by Julius Fast
"And he can never be allelomorphic for the genes that lie on the part of the X chromosome that is not matched by the Y."
"Right again. The gene that causes telepathy, our mutant gene, lies on that unmatched part of the X chromosome." She stared at her brandy glass, then looked up at Jack. "We have recognized what we are. We live with it proudly. It's the breath of life to us. With telepathy we have a closeness, a warmth and honesty that is beyond anything else on earth."
Rhoda took Jack's hand. "You know how many writers have used the alienation of man as a literary theme?"
Jack nodded. "It's very big in literature today."
"It is, and their solution, if any of them offer one, is always fumbling and inept. They offer love. Love becomes the only workable possibility, the only force that can break down the barriers between uninvolved humans. But it's not the real answer, not the answer all of them are groping towards."
"And telepathy is?"
"Of course. I can't begin to describe the satisfaction, the completeness of two minds linked together. What speech is to the dumb, sound to the deaf, sight to the blind, telepathy is to those who can speak and see and hear."
Steve said, "It's everything to us, and yet we've never shared it with a man. Some of us fall in love, some of us marry and have children, but what the hell is the use? I can be closer to Allie and Rhoda with no physical contact than I could ever be to you in sexual intercourse."
The bluntness of it shocked him, and he started to protest, but Rhoda cut him short. "It's true, and because it's true real love, man and woman love, is impossible to us."
He looked at her intently and her eyes fell before his and she said softly, "There is of course love, and there is love. There are many different levels of love."
"You can never hate anyone with whom you have a telepathic bond," Steve said abruptly. "That's a strange outgrowth of telepathy. Hate, suspicion, fear, misinterpretation—all of them are meaningless terms among us. We form a league, a telepathic league, and we work together when we have to with complete cooperation because we know and understand each other so incredibly well. A telepathic human, Jack, could never wage war on another telepath, never commit a crime, never kill, murder or steal or hurt another telepath. It's just not possible. Nor could he deceive another telepath."
Jack sat there, turning his brandy glass, listening and in spite of all reason, believing. "But you can't reproduce," he said finally.
"If we marry a man with a normal X chromosome, our children will be normal. Telepathy is recessive. The girls of such a marriage will have one normal X chromosome and one with the mutant gene. Our sons will all have mutant genes on their X chromosomes."
Startled at the implications, he said, "If this mutation has been around for a long time, if you women do marry, then there must be a lot of hybrids in the world."
"There are," Steve said, "and they probably have the roughest time of all."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "They're neither fish nor fowl, neither completely normal nor completely telepathic."
"You mean they have some degree of telepathy?"
"The gene has some effect, even recessive. It does affect the pineal slightly, not enough to create a telepath, but enough to allow a man to broadcast telepathically under certain circumstances." She wet her lips. "When my father died he 'broke through' as we call it and cried out. He was a hybrid. He had to be, to have me."
"I see. And what are these hybrid men like?"
Steve shrugged. "Unfulfilled men. They sense something wrong, I think. They can sometimes almost put their finger on it, but never quite. It gives them a very peculiar empty relationship to life, as if they're always searching for something, for something they don't comprehend, for something they can never find. They're only half alive."
He lifted his eyes and stared for a moment at each of them. "And I'm like that? I'm one of these hybrids?"
Steve nodded. "I recognized it that first day in the lab. You're lucky. A lot of men, and women too, born like that take to dope, become alcoholics—many become writers, always questioning and searching within themselves for something they can sense but can't understand. I'd hate to do a chromosome count on some of the prophets and saviors."
"And a lot of us become bums," he said dully, "aimless people with no goal or direction."
Rhoda's hand touched his, and he gave her a crooked smile. "Only you've got a goal for me. Tell me."
Steve leaned across the table. "You thought you had the ability to become any creature in man's past. I tell you you have more than that. You can become any creature in man's future, in life's future. You became animals adjacent to man's evolutionary ladder. Now you can take a step up that ladder."
"You three," he nodded at them, "are what man is evolving into."
"Unfortunately," Steve said drily, "we are what woman is evolving into. You can become the first man allelomorphic for telepathy."
He frowned. "Right off I can see one flaw in your theory."
"What's that?"
He shrugged. "You said the mutation is on the X chromosome, I assume on the part not matched by the Y. How can you ever match it with another gene?"
Steve smiled. "That's good thinking, but it can be done, simply by extending the Y chromosome. The gene is not far from the section that matches. All it would take is a few meaningless genes with the mutant among them."
"Are you sure they'd be meaningless?"
"Maybe not. Maybe they'd turn you into a horned man. I don't know. But they'd be sex-linked. Only the men of the race would have them."
"I'd hate to end up with four legs or green skin." He laughed, and then smiled thoughtfully. "So I would become the father of what? Of all telepathic children of tomorrow?"
"Oh, I'm not saying humanity will be telepathic tomorrow, or even in a hundred or a thousand years. But eventually it will happen."
"How? Won't there always be nontelepaths?"
"It'll happen by natural selection, not by extinction, if that's on your mind. Always, all through evolution, when an extra survival factor occurs in a species by mutation, that factor becomes universal. It may take a few thousand years, but eventually it happens."
"And it will happen to humanity?"
"If we give it a start—by creating a father for our children."
"How many are you?" he asked, shaking his head. "I was never a..."
"A lover? A libertine?" Steve finished for him. "We're not asking you to be one. There's always artificial insemination. Why, with one orgasm you could probably fertilize the world!"
"That's a happy thought," Rhoda interrupted, pushing her chair back and standing up. "For that you can clear up, Steve. I'll show Jack the rest of the house."
He didn't particularly want to see the rest of the house, old and historic as it was, but he was glad of an excuse to escape from Steve, to try and sort out his own emotions, and he wanted to be alone with Rhoda.
He followed her through the kitchen, wood panelled and with an enormous hearth and fireplace, large enough to walk into and piled high with ashes. A great, blackened, cast-iron pot hung from a hook above the ashes. Beyond the kitchen a study, wood panelled too, showed the back of the brick hearth and another, smaller fireplace.
"The house is full of fireplaces," Rhoda said. "I guess it was the only heat available when it was built."
He caught her wrist. "I don't want an historical tour, Rhoda."
"What do you want, Jack?"
He let her hand fall. "I'm darned if I know. I guess I want to sort some sense out of this whole fantastic mess. I want some guarantee that I'll still be myself tomorrow and not some godforsaken animal."
"And if you become one of us, is that also a godforsaken animal?"
"Perhaps godforsaken is closer than you think." He threw himself down in one of the study chairs and pulled aside the curtain over the small window. It looked out on the rear of the house and a pile of new lumber.
"What do you mean?"
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p; He shrugged restlessly. "I don't know. If you're not human, you and Steve and Allie, the rest of your telepathic friends, what right have you got to human gods?"
She smiled and reached out to take his hand. "Is God for Homo sapiens alone?"
"What will tomorrow's man call himself, Homo telepathens?"
"He may just be a little closer to sapiens. We are the same as you, or any other woman or man. We can mate with men."
"But there is that mutant gene." He stood up abruptly and she held his hand, forcing him to turn towards her.
"Jack, what's wrong?"
"I don't know. Perhaps I'm scared. What guarantee do you have, any of you, that I'll change into what you want? And how are you going to make me change?"
She stood up and moved close to him, her grey eyes staring up at him luminously. "Do you want to change, Jack? That's what I think is most important of all. Do you want to?"
He took her in his arms but held his head back, staring down at her eyes. "Would you believe me if I told you that I loved you?"
"I've known you wanted me since we met in Montreal."
"I said loved, not wanted."
She searched his eyes, frowning. Then very softly she shook her head. "We are so vulnerable when we deal with men. It's like walking into a fog, into cobwebs. How do I know what you feel, Jack? How do I know what you're thinking?"
"Men have loved women since the race began without ever sharing their thoughts."
"But they weren't women like us." She reached up and touched his face. "How young you've become. You used to have wrinkles around your eyes and now they're gone."
"Did you mind those wrinkles?"
"I loved them."
He caught her finger and kissed it, then kissed her lips, gently at first, and then with a sudden surge of fierceness. Her lips were cool and closed but he forced them open with his tongue, touched her teeth and then her mouth. He felt her grow limp in his arms and she moved her head, crying out softly in protest.
She pulled away, her eyes wide, her parted lips red and bruised, and there was a mixture of confusion and longing on her face. "Oh, Jack, Jack ... if I could only reach you, only hear your mind!"
The room was almost dark then, a soft blue light reaching in from the small window. Behind them they could hear the rattling of pots in the kitchen and occasionally Steve's voice.
"My mind, my mind!" He turned away from her. "I offer you my heart and you ask for my mind." He shook his head. "Is this a part of the test, Rhoda? Am I supposed to change now? Is this the stress Steve talked about?"
She didn't answer, and when he turned back she was standing there, her hands covering her face. "That wasn't fair."
"I'm sorry." He went to her contritely and took her hands from her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears and he kissed them very gently. "I didn't mean any of that. Of course I'll go through with the test, whatever it is."
The noise from the kitchen had stopped and abruptly he asked, "Can they hear us, Steve and Allie? Can they hear any of this?"
She smiled through her tears. "Can you hear someone when they don't speak?"
"Is it like that?"
She nodded, "And I haven't spoken."
She brushed her cheeks dry, then abruptly said, "Come on. I'll show you the rest of the house."
There were two more rooms on the ground floor, a small sewing room and a sun porch. On the floor above there were three bedrooms, and at the end of a long hall a single door, a peculiar door, solid, but obviously put in very recently. In the center of the door was a large round metal dial with an arrow. Numbers from 1 to 25 circled the dial.
Rhoda stepped up to it and spun the dial. "We just put this in."
Frowning, Jack pulled the door open. There were two flush bolts and the side of the door showed as raw metal. Open, it gave on a small balcony with a flight of iron steps leading to the ground.
"What the hell is this?" It seemed completely out of character with the rest of the house.
"A fire door." Rhoda shut it and spun the dial. "Burglar-proof too. It's locked now. It's a combination lock, and only Allie, Steve and I know the combination."
"It doesn't make much sense for a fire door."
"Eventually we'll replace all of the doors with these, only Steve says they'll look nicer, old-fashioned."
"But if they're fire doors and someone doesn't know the combination..."
"We all know it, and if one forgets it, we can broadcast it to her mentally. Come on." She caught at his arm and pulled him towards the hall.
"I don't know the combination."
"We'll tell it to you, or better yet, leave the door open while you're here. Here's the guest room."
It was a small bedroom a few feet from the fire door. Beyond it the hall stretched for about 20 feet before it reached the bathroom and the other two bedrooms and stairway. Jack looked into the room and smiled. Three tiny windows, shaped like portholes on a ship, faced the low hills, almost invisible now in the darkness. There was a small bed against one wall, and a tiny sink and wardrobe. The room was decorated to look like the cabin of a ship, even to a whaling lantern that hung from the ceiling.
"Cute?" She pointed to the lantern. "Steve actually wanted it to swing back and forth with a little motor, but I thought that would make our guests seasick."
Jack smiled. "It's cute, all right, but what's the point?"
"I guess someone was a boat fancier. It came with the house. Let me show you our room. It has an unbelievable view, even at night."
Later, back in the living room, Allie had put out a bowl of fruit and cheese and Steve was busy peeling an orange in one continuous strip. "If it's done right," she grinned as they came in, "the fruit sits on the peel as if on a big spring. Come on. Sit down and relax."
Jack sat at the table and took a pear. "I should be getting back to the city."
"Nonsense. You'll sleep over. We'll give you the captain's room. This is Friday night. Tomorrow I'll drive you into town. All right?"
"Please stay, Jack." Rhoda took his hand and he smiled at her.
"Okay. Now let's talk some more genetics. Maybe I can puzzle some of this out."
"Fire away." Steve finished the orange and set it on its peel where it bounced up and down. "Genetics it is."
Chapter Fifteen
Jack woke out of a sound sleep to feel a hand shaking him, and then, as he struggled to sit up, fingers were placed on his mouth. "Shh!"
"Rhoda?" He reached for the bedside light as the dark form bending over him drew back. "Is that you?"
"It's Clifford, Jack."
"Clifford? What the hell are you doing here?" He fumbled for the switch. "Wait a minute. Let me put on the lamp."
"Can anyone see it?"
"What's the difference?" He switched on the bed lamp and stared at Clifford in the circle of light. "What time is it? What are you doing here? Who let you in?"
"At least your eyes aren't grey." Clifford sat down on the bed with a sigh. "No one let me in. I've been creeping about like a thief in the night. I rented a car and came up here this evening. I parked down the road and waited in the woods till the lights went out. Christ, I'm tired and hungry and stiff as a board."
"Well, come downstairs and I'll rassle you up a sandwich. There's plenty of food left over."
Clifford let out his breath in a harsh laugh. "You think they'd feed me if they caught me here?"
"They, they? There's Rhoda and Steve and Allie. That's all. What is this all about?"
Suddenly Clifford reached up and tilted the lamp, then pulled the bedclothes back. Jack had been sleeping in his underwear, and there was a long pause as Clifford stared at his body. "Have they ... changed you already? Jack—" He shook his head in bewilderment. "What is it? You're different."
"Cliff—" He sat up. "What time is it?"
"After three."
"Have you got a smoke, a cigar or a cigarette?" He lit it after Clifford silently handed him one and he drew in a deep breath, then coughed and swor
e silently. Finally he looked at the cigarette. "I ought to give this up. At least now I can be afraid of cancer. It's cured, you know. Steve is positive."
"Jack, what's happened? Where have you been?"
"I tried to commit suicide, Cliff. I jumped off the George Washington Bridge, only it didn't work. I guess I wanted to live out whatever life was left me. It's a long, crazy story, Cliff, like becoming a wolf. I changed into a bird, and then, when I was too heavy to fly and hit the water, into a shark." Briefly he told Clifford what had happened. "And that explains this body," he finished lamely, "or does it?"
Clifford shook his head. "I feel like Alice halfway down the rabbit hole. I don't believe any of this and yet I do. They chased me all over New York yesterday, your grey-eyed telepaths, trying to keep me from warning you."
"Warning me about what?"
"About what they intend to do. They intend to change you, Jack, to make you one of them, to put you through some kind of test that will make you change into a telepath."
"But I know that, Cliff. That's the whole point of it. I haven't really agreed to go through with it yet. Maybe I've half promised, but we haven't discussed it."
"What makes you think they need your agreement?"
"What? Cliff, you've got them wrong. They're decent, normal human beings, a hell of a lot more decent than most. I told Steve I'd sleep on it. I don't have to go through with the test, whatever it is."
"Don't you? Look, Jack, Steve is no fool and no innocent. I don't know how decent any of them are. They want you to help reproduce their kind, to replace human beings."
"Sure, in a few thousand years, and what's so bad about replacing us? Haven't we made enough of a mess of things? Cliff, don't be so melodramatic. You just don't know them."
"I know them better than you do. I've had some experience with them. Wait!" He reached out and switched off the light. "Did you hear something?"
They were both silent, listening, but nothing broke the quiet of the sleeping house. Finally Clifford relaxed. "Anyway, leave the light off. Jack, did you talk to Steve about how they expect you to change, about the test?"
