Sunburst

by Phyllis Gotlieb

  She pulled herself together and went in.

  * * * *

  The house had blackout curtains and was not dark inside, but there was a broad figure in the hall blocking the light from the kitchen.

  Jason’s voice said, “Shandy?”

  The boy clicked his tongue in disgust. “Who else?”

  “You all right?”

  “Just tired.” She could hardly stand.

  “This prizefighter here is Prester Vernon.”

  “It ought to be Prester John. I’m grateful to you, Prester.”

  “Don’t go gettin’ all gooky over it,” the boy muttered.

  “That’s no way to take a thank-you.” Jason aimed a cuff at his ear, but before the blow landed he had disappeared and popped up again behind Jason’s back.

  “I can turn you inside out, Jason Hemmer!”

  Jason folded his arms. “Helmi.”

  A young woman came out into the hall, and the boy cowered in earnest behind Jason’s back. “This is Helmi Aaslepp,” said Jason.

  Helmi was a very thin sharp-faced girl in an advanced stage of pregnancy. She had blue eyes and fair, almost white, hair twisted in a knot back of her head. There was a vivid nervous intelligence in her face that Shandy had never seen in anyone, psi or normal, before. She caught Jason’s grin out of the corner of her eye as she and Helmi measured each other down to the last level teaspoon.

  “Glad to meet you,” said Helmi perfunctorily. “I’ll get you some supper as soon as we take care of this character.”

  Jason turned swiftly, caught Prester by the waist, lifted him up and hung him by his belt on a wall-hook between an umbrella and a set of oilskins. Unable to use psi against their combined forces, Prester could only drum his heels on the wall and scowl.

  “Look, superboy, it’s not marbles we’re playing here, it’s a game of flesh and blood.”

  “Please let him down,” said Shandy.

  Helmi looked at her in surprise. “Why?”

  “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot… I’m grateful to him for helping me. He doesn’t have to be grateful to me for thanking him.”

  Helmi opened her mouth to protest, but Jason set the boy down. Shandy rubbed the crinkled head. “I got you off the hook but you don’t have to thank me.” Prester tried to keep the scowl, but it creased into laughter in spite of his efforts; he ran into the kitchen without a word. She added shyly to Helmi, “I’m not trying to get in your way either.”

  Helmi permitted the flicker of a smile to pull at the corners of her mouth. “Jason’s told me a lot about you,” she said cryptically. “You can wash up in there.”

  “Wait,” said Shandy. “Doydoy is here, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s all right, but he’s asleep now.”

  “Dumplings try to get him?”

  “N-no,” said Jason. “Not yet.” She glanced at him; something had closed itself behind his eyes, as though she were dangerously close to reading his thoughts. She did not ask any more questions.

  * * * *

  Peter Aaslepp put down his coffee cup and nodded. He was a giant of the same coloring as his wife; he had no psi, and his demeanor was full of the patience, humor, and tolerance he must have needed to live with a telepathic wife.

  Hungry as she was, Shandy hesitated again. She had paid a great deal in emotion and physical effort to help Doydoy. She wanted, not a reward, but nebulously some kind of guarantee that he was alive and safe.

  “What is it?” Helmi’s voice was a trifle sharp. She was not accustomed to asking.

  “I—I’d like to see Doydoy, just for a moment. If you don’t mind.”

  Helmi wavered, but Peter Aaslepp said in a giant’s voice, subdued with difficulty, “Let her see him, woman. She will not wake him.”

  “Come along,” said Helmi.

  * * * *

  Doydoy’s face was pink and clean in the rose-shaded lamplight. His misshapen body was covered with a patchwork quilt; his hair had been cut, and except for the marks of glasses on his nose he had the look of the newborn baby sleeping with its soul retreated far behind sunken lids into whatever country it inhabited before birth.

  Shandy had a moment of pure terror. In the cruel prison life Doydoy had lived with the Dumplings he had been strong and respected—if only for strength. Now he looked weak and helpless, and she wondered if she had only delivered him to the harassment of a savage world.

  “Satisfied?” Helmi pulled the quilt a little higher, even though it was a warm night. The gesture declared that she had assumed full responsibility for Doydoy. “You can see we’ve been treating him a lot better than the MP or the Dumplings did.”

  No use in being jealous. She had no way of helping Doydoy herself. “It’s not you I’m worried about…it’s the rest of the world.”

  * * * *

  She watched them round the table as she ate; they were waiting with her because there was nothing else to do. They were silent, but their communication was endless and unstrained by the intense hostilities of the Dumplings. They had a bond, stronger than that of the Pack, because it was composed not of mutually balanced forces but of affection, loyalty, and intelligence. She was welcome, through bonds of obligation—and excluded. She was different.

  Yet, even as a close group they were individuals: Prester Vernon was certainly an ectomorph; Peter, phlegmatic now, might someday run to fat; Doydoy was ungroupable; Helmi was certainly like no-one else. But when it came to herself…

  “Jason!” She put down the crust of her sandwich. “What happened to Ma Slippec?”

  “I made sure she got home,” said Jason.

  “Gee, thanks, I’m glad of that.”

  Helmi said, “I don’t understand your loyalty to that kind of person.”

  “She loves me,” said Shandy.

  The woman laughed shortly. “Call that love?”

  Shandy hefted another sandwich and tested the contour of her stomach. “Her capacities are limited, but she does the best she can.”

  There was a glint in Jason’s eye. “Dull normal?”

  She had a sudden rare glimpse, rebounding from his eyes, of her own surface. “That was smart-alecky and I shouldn’t have said it. She does love me. She risked a lot coming up on that stage to try and save me after everything she’d been through with the civvies. Not many people in Sorrel Park would have done it.” A clock on the wall began to chime. It was eleven, but the others looked as if they were going to stay up all night. “Do you live here, Prester?”

  “Yeah, but not so’s anybody’d notice.”

  “We keep out of the way,” said Helmi.

  “I can understand that,” she said, “but why stay here?”

  “Where’s a better place to start?” said Helmi.

  She was silent. She did not really want to know if they intended to save the world, starting with Sorrel Park. Not now; she was too tired. But there were plenty of unanswered questions waiting.

  * * * *

  She bedded down on the chesterfield with a blanket, too sleepy to eavesdrop on their still murmuring voices from the kitchen. Her last feeling before falling asleep was of that palpable sense of exclusion. She was alone. Again. She realized that what she was feeling was the return of that sense. It had been with her all her life until those few days at the MP depot, and there it had left her so painlessly she hadn’t realized it. But the return was painful, because there was no place for her here either. She slept.

  Momentarily the surface of her sleep was broken by a shout in the street but it did not disturb her as much as an ominous calm, an undercurrent of wonder that the Dumplings weren’t trying to grab Doydoy, and that no-one here was worried about it.

  On a level deeper still, in some vault of her unconscious, logic was beginning to collate data.

  She slept on in the eye of the hu
rricane.

  * * * *

  She woke in early dawn with a gritty residue of weariness, to the sound of voices still coming from the kitchen. She stretched cautiously, feeling almost hamstrung. Her ribs ached from being knocked about, and her face was raw with scratches.

  Helmi’s voice from the kitchen said clearly, “—can’t go on like this.”

  Like what? Shandy sat up and swung her legs down. Her clothes were filthy, but she was stuck with them. She pulled her old sneakers on; the only respectable articles of clothing she owned were the laces Jason had given her the night before last.

  “And there’s the other problem,” the voice went on. “What to do about her?”

  Shandy pricked her ears, thought better of her intentions, and yawned loudly. The voices shut up.

  She dragged herself into the kitchen. They were in the same positions around the table, and she did not know whether or not they had slept. “Where’s Doydoy?”

  “Still asleep,” said Peter.

  She looked round at them all. She had come to a hard decision, and she silently awarded herself the razz for her sense of its altruism, without stopping the ache. “I’m going to leave, Jason. I’d like to thank you for everything.”

  Jason’s mouth fell open. “When the hell’d you make that big decision?”

  “Last night. It’s no good my staying here. Maybe I’ll be useful someday, but if I hung around here now you’d probably spend all your time keeping me out of trouble. You got a lot to do and you need me like a hole in the head.”

  He slapped the side of his head. “I got a hole there already! My brains are falling out and I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t go running around in that pigsty!”

  “I know my way around. Jason,” she said, “let’s face it. I’m nothing here.”

  Jason glared round at the others, but Peter only said, “Let her go, Jason, if she is unwilling to be here. You can see that she reaches home safely.”

  “She has no home,” said Jason. “You sit down.”

  “Yes,” Helmi sneered. “She may be no use to us, but she could be a dangerous use to the Dumplings. I’d rather have her here where we can keep an eye on her.”

  “Stop that! You know that’s not why I want her here!” Helmi shot him an ironical glance.

  Shandy said awkwardly, “Thank you, Jason. I—I’m glad you like me, or think I’m valuable, or feel responsible for me…but it would be wrong for me to stay.” She turned to Helmi. “I don’t intend to help the Dumplings. Even if I did and you wanted to keep me here you’d be far too busy to make it worthwhile holding onto me.”

  Helmi stood up to pile dishes. “Would we have to?” Her eyes were icy. “Have you ever read Odd John? You might remember an incident in which John was caught in a theft by a policeman and killed him rather than be endangered by exposure…his argument was that in comparison with him the man was an animal, and every human has the right to kill an animal in self-defense.”

  Peter was staring at her in horror and Jason in exasperation, but Shandy had seen her hand moving around her swollen belly, and said, “I think every woman would feel she had the right to do something drastic to save her baby—but that’s a filthy argument to base an ethic on. In John’s own terms, first he baited an animal, and then killed it because its rage endangered him.” She snorted. “No wonder his species ended blowing themselves up!”

  Peter was still staring at his wife. “I hope you did not mean it, woman.”

  Helmi’s lips trembled. “I didn’t mean it.” She covered her face with her hands.

  Jason said gently, “Come off it, Helmi. You only got what you gave.”

  “I’ve done it again,” said Shandy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you can see I can’t stay.”

  “Sit down,” said Jason. But she was heading for the door. He roared, “Siddown!” and slammed the table so hard the dishes rattled. She came back and sat down meekly.

  He mopped his red face. “You just told me you were glad somebody cared? Well, we’ll be needing you too before this is over. Now eat breakfast.”

  “Jason. I wouldn’t—you don’t think I’d help the Dumplings?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! Maybe someday we’ll have to kill some animals, but we’ll damn well make sure we know what’s an animal first.”

  Helmi wiped her eyes. “You don’t care what happens to us.” Her voice shook. “Hiding all these years, and now I’ve got the baby coming, letting yourself get beaten up so nobody respects you and everybody so scared of psis they wouldn’t believe one in a thousand years! Now you let Prester show himself and put us into more danger, and all for her! Why? Why should we care if one brat lives or dies?” She jumped up from her chair and ran into the bedroom, sobbing. Peter followed her in, shaking his head, and Prester picked himself up and went out to the back porch.

  Shandy looked thoughtfully at the closed bedroom door.

  Jason was picking crumbs off the tablecloth. He raised his head. “You got that look in your eye again.”

  “I never said a word.”

  “Come on, out with it. I know you.”

  “First…why do you have faith in me, Jason? It can’t be anything really important, or Helmi wouldn’t have gotten so mad.”

  “Only an idea, been kicking around in the back of my mind. I’ll let you know when there’s something definite to tell you. Helmi knows what’s important, all right. Now you tell me what you’re stewing about.”

  “Oh…I know you’re not loyal to Helmi and Prester only because they’re psis; you love them too. I trust your judgment. If you find Helmi lovable and I can’t, there must be a good reason why she’s acting so unlovable right now.”

  He looked at her from under the eave of his brow. “You’re sure there has to be?”

  She replied modestly. “I’ve generally found it to be so in my experience.” He snickered. “You’ll notice,” she said, “I’m not asking.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I notice. You got signs hung out all over you.” He dug out his cigarettes in their crumpled pack, lit one, and blew smoke at the ceiling. Then he leaned back in the chair with his arms crossed, thinking. When he had settled something to his satisfaction, he grunted and said, “You remember Curtis Quimper was the first person to discover he had psi.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Helmi must’ve been a close second. I don’t have to bother with the whole story—her parents died of radiation and her background’s a lot like yours. She wasn’t like you, though…she was a scared wisp of a kid, and finding out about the psi gave her a real jolt. She didn’t know what to do with it or how to handle it and she was terrified. And before she had time to get used to it, Curtis Quimper found out about her…and he figured he’d have some fun. You can imagine.”

  “Yes…” She shivered.

  “He made it rough for her, all right. She was too scared to fight back and she knew if she told anybody they’d think she was crazy. After a while she got so paralyzed with fear she wouldn’t move out of her room, and nobody could figure out what was wrong or what to do with her. The people she lived with were thinking of having her certified. Luckily—for her—all the rest of the psis woke up nearly together, and grouped. Quimper forgot his games when he found himself running at the head of the Pack. They couldn’t have dragged her along with an atomic sledge by then, she was so knotted up. When they got put away she managed to pull herself together, too scared and broken up to get out and start over outside, and terrified that if she stayed and were found out she’d get shut up in the Dump—with them. But she found Prester and me after a while…and I guess you understand a little better now.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  His brow curled and quivered. “I didn’t think you were such a sensitive little thing! If you hadn’t wanted to know I’d have been disappointed in you.�
�

  She remembered Prothero’s scene with Colin. “That’s awfully private. If my knowing about it hurt her—”

  Jason shrugged. “All the Dumplings know it. That hurts. But my knowing, and Peter and Prester…you’re with us, and you’ve read all the files. She doesn’t mind, in spite of what she’s said to you, or I wouldn’t have told you.”

  He had said: you’re with us. She coughed to conceal her mingled pleasure and embarrassment. “I can see why she just wants to lead an ordinary life, and why she’s so upset now the Dumplings are out. And I can see why you all stayed around here, too, but I think you crippled yourselves unnecessarily.”

  “I guess we did—in the way a very strong person has to be careful about using his strength. But we have to forget about the past now; it’s the future that counts.”

  She looked at him searchingly. “Were you really very anxious to go out and save the world?”

  “I had some daydreams.”

  “No burning ambitions?”

  “I always knew I didn’t have enough psi to make me king of the castle, so…” He watched while she took a piece of cold toast and delved rather deeply into the butterine. His voice was casual. “I enjoy your little roundabout excursions, but with time running short maybe you better get down to what you really mean to say.”

  But she was thinking deeply and not to be hurried. “How many psis would you put in the genius class?”

  He scratched his head. “It’s so hard testing psis—or even Impers… I’d put Doydoy up there; LaVonne, maybe, if she knew how to handle her brains. Prester’s an irresponsible kid, but I’d take the chance and put him between the two of them… Helmi and I come well under them, and after us there’s nothing at all, because all the rest of the Dumplings run from about 75 to 110. Now what’s next?”

  “People have always thought of psi as something superhuman…”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “You said once that most normal people have vestiges of it, telepathy, at least, but it’s stronger in babies and kids because they can’t express themselves very well by talking. Pk and tp don’t seem to occur naturally…”