Seeker

THIRTEEN

It is good to learn to look without wonder or disgust on the weaknesses which are to be found in the strongest minds.

- T. B. Macauley “Warren Hastings,”

Edinburgh Review, October 1841 I was tempted to send a message to Alex, suggesting if he was determined to proceed with the investigation, he’d be the obvious person to do it since he had experience dealing with the Ashiyyur. The problem was that I knew how he’d respond: You’re already there, Chase. Pull up your socks and go talk to them. See what you can find out.

So I bit the bullet. I sent a message telling him what I knew, and that if I could learn who had the Falcon I would proceed to Xiala. I also told him I was underpaid.

Then I linked through to the Mute embassy and was surprised when a young man answered the call. I figured they’d want a human face up front, but I’d expected an avatar. The guy on the circuit felt real, and when I flat out asked him if it were so he said yes. “I think,” he added with a laugh, “that we want to impress everyone that there’s really nothing to fear.” He grinned. “Now, Ms. Kolpath, what can I do for you?”

He had the unlikely name Ralf, and when I told him I needed some information, he invited me to go ahead. He was graceful, amiable, well-spoken. Auburn hair, brown eyes, good smile. Maybe thirty. A good choice for the up-front guy.

When I finished explaining he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Wait, though. Let me check.” He looked through a series of data tables, nodded at a couple of them, and tapped the screen. “How about that?” he said.

“Here it is. The Falcon, right?”

“That’s correct.”

He read off the date and time of transfer. And the recipient. Which was another foundation.

“Good,” I said. “Is there a way I can get access to the ship?” I went into my researchproject routine.

“I really have no idea,” he said. “I can tell you where it is. Or at least where it was shipped. After that you’ll have to deal with them.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where is it?”

“It was delivered to the Provno Museum of Alien Life-forms. On Borkarat.”

“Borkarat?”

“Yes. Do you have a travel document?”

He was talking about authorization from the Confederacy to enter Mute space. “No,” I said.

“Get one. There’s an office on the station. Then check in with our travel people. We have an office too. You’ll have to file an application with us as well. It may take a few days.”

I hung around the orbiter for two weeks thinking all kinds of angry thoughts about Alex, before the documentation was completed and my transport vessel arrived. I wasn’t permitted to take the Belle-Marie into Mute space. That was a Confederate prohibition, dating back to a few years ago when we first came into possession of quantum-drive technology. The Confederacy wanted to keep the system out of the hands of the Mutes. But of course that proved impossible. You can’t have hundreds of ships using a given drive system, much better than anything anyone had had previously, and not expect the neighbors to come up with it pretty quickly. The Mutes have always claimed that their version was independently developed, but nobody believes it.

Curious thing: There’d been an assumption when we’d first encountered them that a species that used telepathy in lieu of speech would be unable to lie, would never have known the nature of deceit. But of course they turned out to be no more truthful than we are. Not when they discovered humans couldn’t penetrate them.

I’d kept Alex informed. I pointed out it would be expensive to take the connecting flight to Xiala. I would be on board the Diponga, or, as the station people called it, the Dipsy-Doodle. I also let him know I wasn’t happy with the fact this was becoming a crusade. I suggested if he wanted to call a halt, I wouldn’t resist. And I’d wait for his answer before going any farther.

His response was pretty much what I expected. He sat at my desk, looking serene, with the snow-covered forest visible through the windows, and told me how well I was doing, and how fortunate he was to have an employee with such persistence.

“Most people would have simply given up, Chase,” he said.

Most people were brighter than I was.

I thought about signing up for the Hennessy Foundation’s seminar on How to Control Psychological Responses When Communicating with Ashiyyureans. But it was hard to see that it would be helpful if they didn’t have an actual Mute come into the conference room. Anyhow, it seemed cowardly.

So when everything was in order, I boarded the Dipsy-Doodle, along with eight other human passengers. They settled us in the ship’s common room, and an older man in a gray uniform inscribed with arcane symbols over the left-hand pocket-MUTE TRANSPORT, I guessed-welcomed us on board, and told us his name was Frank and he’d be traveling with us and anything he could do to make things more comfortable we should just ask. We would be leaving in about an hour. He explained that the flight to Xiala would take approximately four standard days. And were there any questions?

My fellow passengers looked like business types. None was especially young, and none seemed very concerned. I was surprised, though, that all were human. Were there no Mutes returning home?

Afterward, Frank showed us to our compartments, and asked if, after settling in, we would all return to the common room. At 1900 hours. And thank you very much.

I stowed my gear. Four days to Xiala. Then it would be another four days to Borkarat, which was halfway across Mute space. (An odd aspect of quantum travel was that any destination requiring only a single jump tended to be three or four days away.

Depending on how far you were from your destination when you emerged from the jump.) I began to wonder if I wanted to look at something else in the way of career employment.

When we rejoined Frank, he talked about procedures for a few minutes, how the meal schedule would run, use of washroom facilities, and so on. Then he explained that the captain wanted to introduce himself.

On cue, the door to the bridge opened and the first Mute I had ever seen in person walked into the room. It had gray-mottled skin, recessed eyes under heavy ridges, arms too long for the body, and the overall appearance of something that needed more sunlight. It wore a uniform similar to Frank’s.

I had expected, judging from everything I’d heard, to feel a rush of horror.

Accompanied by the knowledge that my thoughts lay exposed. But none of that happened. I would not have wanted to meet the captain on Bridge Street at night. But not because it, he, had a fearsome appearance. (He did appear to be a male, but he didn’t look as if he were ready to try me with his hors d’oeuvres.) Rather, there was something about him that was revolting, like a spider, or insects in general. Yet the captain certainly bore no resemblance to a bug. I think it was connected with the fact that his skin glistened.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking through a voice box. “I’m Captain Japuhr. Frank and I are pleased to have you on board the Diponga. Or, as Frank and the people at the station insist on calling it, the Dipsy-Doodle.” The pronunciation wasn’t quite right. It sounded more like Dawdle. “We hope you enjoy your flight, and we want you to know if there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to tell us.” He nodded at Frank, and Frank smiled.

Every hair I owned stood at attention. And I thought, He knows exactly what I’m feeling. He picks up the revulsion. And, as if to confirm my worst fears, the captain looked my way and nodded. It wasn’t a human nod, it was rather a lowering of the whole head and neck, probably because he didn’t have the structural flexibilty to do it the way you or I would. But I understood the gesture. He was saying hello. He understood my reaction, but he was not going to take offense.

That was a good thing. But what would happen when I was away from the captain and dealing with ordinary run-of-the-mill street-level Mutes?

What had I gotten myself into?

While I was worrying myself sick, Captain Japuhr came closer. Our eyes connected, his red and serene and a bit too large, and mine-Well, I felt caught in somebody’s sights. At that moment, while I swam against the tide, thinking no, you have no idea, you can’t read me, his lips parted in an attempt to smile. “It’s all right, Ms. Kolpath,” he said to me. “Everyone goes through this in the beginning.”

It was the only time I saw his fangs.

During the flight, the captain, for the most part, confined himself to the bridge and to his quarters, which were located immediately aft the bridge, and separated from the area accessible to the passengers. My fellow travelers explained that the Ashiyyurnobody used the term Mute on shipboard-were conscious of our visceral reaction to them, and in fact they had their own visceral reaction to deal with. They were repulsed by us, too. So they sensibly tried to defuse the situation as much as they were able.

Frank explained that there were no Ashiyyurean passengers for much the same reason.

Flights were always reserved for one species or the other. I asked whether that also applied to him. Had he made flights with alien passengers? “No,” he said. “It’s against the rules.”

We were about twelve hours out when we made our jump. One of the passengers got briefly ill. But the reaction passed, and she had her color back a few minutes after transition was complete. Frank informed us that we were going to arrive at Xiala sixteen hours ahead of schedule. That would mean a nineteen-hour layover at the station before I could catch my connecting flight. “I was looking at the passenger list,”

Frank said. “You’ll be traveling on the Komar, and you’ll be the only human passenger.”

“Okay,” I said. I’d suspected that might happen.

“Have you traveled before in the Assemblage?” That was the closest approximation in Standard of the Mutes’ term for their section of the Orion Arm. I should add here that they have a looser political organization than the human worlds do. There is a central council, but it is strictly a deliberative body. It has no executive authority. Worlds, and groups of worlds, operate independently. On the other hand, we’ve learned the hard way how quickly and effectively they can unite in a common cause.

“No,” I said. “This is my first time.”

He let me see that he disapproved. “You should have someone with you.”

I shrugged. “Nobody was available, Frank. Why? Will I be in physical danger?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. But you’ll be a long time without seeing anybody else.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I didn’t mean you’d be alone. You’ll have company.” He jiggled his hands, indicating there was no help for it now. “And I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I think you’ll find your fellow travelers willing to help if you need it.”

More hesitation. “May I ask where you’re headed? Are you going anywhere from Borkarat?”

“No,” I said.

“When will you be coming back?”

“As soon as my business is completed.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

The first night I stayed up until midmorning. Everybody did. We partied and had a good time. And when we’d all had a bit too much to drink, the captain came out, and the atmosphere did not change.

When finally I retired to my cabin, I was in a rare good humor. I hadn’t thought much about Captain Japuhr during the previous few hours, but when I killed the lights and pulled the sheet up, I began to wonder about the range of Mute abilities. (Think Ashiyyur, I told myself.) My quarters were removed from the bridge and his connecting cabin by at least thirty meters. Moreover, he was almost certainly asleep.

But if he was not, I wondered, was he capable of picking up my thoughts at that moment? Was I exposed?

In the morning I asked Frank. Depends on the individual, he said. “Some can read you several rooms away. Although they all find humans tougher than their own kind.”

And was the capability passive? Or was there an active component? Did they simply read minds? Or could they inject thought as well?

There were about five of us in the common room, eating breakfast, and Frank passed the question around to Joe Klaymoor. Joe was in his seventies, gray, small, and I would have thought introverted, but I could never make myself believe an introvert would head for Mute country. Make it maybe reticent. And a good guy. He kept his sense of humor through the whole experience. Laughed it off. “I have nothing to hide,” he said. “To my everlasting regret.

“It was a big philosophical issue for them at one time,” he continued. “Same as the question we once had, whether our eyes emitted beams of some sort which allowed us to see. Or whether the outside world put out the beams. Like our eyes, the Ashiyyur are receivers only. They collect what gets sent their way. And not just thoughts. They get images, emotions, whatever’s floating around at your conscious level.” He looked momentarily uncomfortable. “ ‘Floating around’ is probably an inadequate expression.”

“What would be adequate?” asked one of the other passengers, Mary DiPalma, who was a stage magician from London.

“Something along the lines of an undisciplined torrent. They’ll tell you that the human psyche is chaotic.”

Great. If that’s really so, no wonder they think we’re all idiots. “The conscious level,”

I said. “But not subconscious?”

“They say not,” said Joe. He laid his head on the back of the chair. “They didn’t settle the transmission/reception issue, by the way, until they encountered us.”

“Really. How’d that happen?”

“They understood a lot of what we were thinking, although a fair amount of it was garbled because of the language problem. When they tried to send something, I gather we just stared back.”

Somebody else, I don’t recall who, asked about animals. Can they read animals, too?

Joe nodded. “The higher creatures, to a degree.”

“And pain?” asked Mary DiPalma.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“That must be a problem for them.”

Frank took a long breath. “What’s the survival advantage in that?” he asked. “I’d expect that a creature that feels pain around it would not last long.”

Joe thought it over. “Evolution happens along two tracks,” he said. “One track is individually based, and the other assists survival of the species. Or at least, that’s the way it was explained to me. It’s not my field.”

“Then they’re not predators,” I suggested.

One of the women laughed. “Not predators? You get a look at those bicuspids? And the eyes? They’re hunters, no doubt about that.”

“That’s true,” said Joe. “From what I understand, they don’t make the connection with their natural prey. It also seems to be the case that they developed the telepathic capability relatively late. They’re a much older species than we are, by the way.”

“I wonder,” said one of the guys, “if we’ll develop psi abilities eventually.”

One of the women drew herself up straighter. “I certainly hope not,” she said.

Mary laughed. “I can already do it.”

“Show me,” said Larry, the youngest guy on the ship.

Mary turned to me. “Can’t you read his mind, Chase?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

Nobody seemed in a hurry to make port. Frank broke out drinks every evening, and we partied. Mary warned me that she still remembered her first flight into alien space and how unnerving it had been. “But just relax and enjoy it,” she said. “You’ll never experience anything like it the rest of your life.”

They were good times on the Dipsy-Doodle.

I should say up front that during my visit to Mute country, no Ashiyyurean mistreated me in any way, or was anything but courteous. Still, we were aware of the thing on the bridge, that it was different, not only physically, but in some spiritual way. And that sense of the other, however nonthreatening it might be, drove us together. Herd instinct in action.

I made several friends on that flight, people with whom I’m still in contact. Like Joe Klaymoor, a sociologist from Toxicon, studying the effects on a society of widespread telepathy. And Mary DiPalma, from ancient London. Mary showed me enough to make me believe in magic. And Tolman Edward, who represented a trading company.

Tolman, like me, had never been in the Assemblage before. He was headed into the interior to try to straighten out a trade problem.

I’ve thought since that the entire effort, trying to chase down the Falcon, was worth it just for the few days I spent with them. It had all started with a drinking cup from an interstellar. I have another one on my desk as I write these words. The characters, once again, are unfamiliar. The eagle is replaced by a seven-pointed star with a halo.

It belonged, not to the Seeker, but to the Dipsy-Doodle.

But it had to end. When Captain Japuhr came back to inform us that we would be docking in fourteen hours, we all felt as if something was being lost. I’ve been on a lot of flights, a lifetime’s worth, but I’ve never known anything quite like it. He asked if we were comfortable, and if there was anything he could do. Then he withdrew.

Frank took me aside. “Have you figured out how you’re going to get around?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“There’ll be a language problem.”

“Why?” I’d assumed I was dealing with mind readers, so communication should be easy.

“You think in Standard. They’ll read images, but not the language. Even if you can get them to understand you, you still won’t be able to understand them.”

“What do you suggest?”

He opened a cabinet and took out a notebook. “This will help,” he said. He turned it on and spoke to it. “Help me, I’m lost, I have no idea where I am.” A group of Mute words appeared on the screen. “Just show them this. They’ll read it, and they can input an answer for you.” He smiled. “Don’t expect them to be wearing voice boxes.”

“How do I read the reply?”

It had a Mute keyboard. “They can poke in whatever they want to say. It will translate and put it on the display.” He frowned at it. “It’s not practical for long conversations, but it will help you order food and find your hotel.”

“May I borrow it?”

“You can rent it.”

“Absolutely,” I said. It wasn’t cheap, but I put it on Rainbow’s account. “What about food? Will I have trouble?”

“Some of the major hotels can provide a menu for you. Don’t try to eat the stuff the Ashiyyur do. Okay?”

I’d seen pictures of what they eat. There was no danger of that.

“One other thing, Chase. There’ll always be somebody who can speak Standard at our service counter. We’re also as close as your link. They’ll be able to direct you where you want to go.”

We disembarked that night at the Xiala orbiter, picked up our bags, and did a last round of good-byes. Good luck and all that. Captain Japuhr came out to wish us farewell. Everybody shook hands and hugged. We clung together for a few steps as we moved out into a concourse filled with Mutes. They towered over us and they had six digits on each hand and they liked solemn clothing (except one female with a yellow hat that looked like a sombrero). They eyed us as if we were, as the old saying goes, from Bashubal. Frank lingered with us and told us we’d be fine and wished us luck. He seemed especially concerned about me. And then, finally, I was alone.

I’ve watched lovers walk out of my life twice, guys I was seriously attached to, and about whom I still have regrets. But I never watched anybody walk off with quite the same level of misgiving as on that occasion.

A female with two children passed me, and she moved to put herself between them and me as if I might be dangerous. I wondered if she-and they-picked up the sudden resentment I felt. What was the point of having telepathic abilities if empathy didn’t come with them?

The concourse was almost empty, for which I was grateful. I wandered over to one of the portals and looked down. The sun was just rising over the curve of the planet.

Directly below, it was still night over a major landmass. I could see a single big moon.

It was setting in the west, and its soft glow illuminated a series of mountain peaks.

The service counter surprised me. The avatar was a duplicate of me. “How may I help you, Chase?” she asked.

She confirmed my booking to Borkarat. The ship would leave next afternoon. She recommended a hotel, made my reservation, and wished me a pleasant evening.

Actually, she looked pretty good.

Overall anatomical structure of the Mutes is similar to our own, at least as far as things like waste disposal are concerned. I suppose there are only so many ways an intelligent creature can function. There’ll necessarily be gravity, so energy-source intake has to happen near the top of the anatomy, the processing functions midway, and elimination near the bottom of the working area. What I’m saying is that the rooms assigned to humans at the Gobul Hotel were Mute rooms. Everything was bigger, and I’ll confess I found the toilet something of a challenge.

I took my first meal in the restaurant, in an effort to accustom myself to my hosts.

And I sat there like an idiot convinced everyone was watching me, the real me, not simply the external shell that we’re accustomed to putting on display. What was most difficult, I hated being there, thoroughly disliked being in their company, struggled to hold down my emotions, and knew that all of it was visible to any who cared to look.

Joe Klaymoor tells me Mutes are able, to a degree, to shield their minds from each other. They are, he says, probably evolving into an entity that will eventually possess a single consciousness. But not yet. And he adds the scary possibility that we may go the same way.

One or two came over to introduce themselves, and I said hello through the notebook, but it was a clumsy business. They told me they had never seen a real human before, and I knew they were trying to be complimentary. But I felt like a show animal.

They left after a couple of minutes. My food came and I hurried through it, tried smiling at the surrounding Mutes who persisted in staring at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. I was glad to get back to my room.

I thought about calling it off. Let Alex track down the Falcon himself.

Which he would do.

He wouldn’t say anything to me, wouldn’t criticize me, but I knew how he was. Send a boy-or a woman-to do a man’s job.

I boarded the Komar in the morning. Direct flight to Borkarat, one of the major worlds of the Assemblage. It was eighty-six light-years from Xiala.

I had twenty-one fellow passengers, all Mutes. Most were in the common room when I made my entrance. Which is the right word. A young male saw me. Nobody else turned in my direction, but they all came to alert. Don’t ask me how I knew. But I was suddenly aware they were all watching me through that single pair of eyes.

A kid buried his head in his mother’s robe.

I could see right away this was going to be a thoroughly enjoyable flight. I smiled lamely at the young male. Mutes don’t smile well. Maybe they don’t need to. Some, who’ve lived among us, have picked it up, but they don’t do it naturally, which is the reason it always scares the pants off you when they try.

Another aspect of spending time with Mutes is that they don’t talk. You’re in a room with more than twenty people, and they’re all sitting quietly, looking at one another.

And nobody is saying anything.

They tried to be sociable. They made gestures in my direction. Made eye contact with me. Several raised their hands in greeting.

After a few minutes, I did what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t: I ducked into my compartment and closed the door, wishing with all my heart I could shut the door on my conscious mind. Outside, a short time later, hatches closed. I heard the engines come to life. And there was a knock at the door.

I opened up and looked at a Mute in the same gray uniform Frank had worn. He handed me a white card. It said, Welcome aboard. Please belt in. We are ready to launch. And then a second card: Do you require assistance?

I leaned forward and pointed at my forehead, like a dolt. I wanted him to know I was thinking. And I formed the word No in my mind. No, thank you. I’m fine.

Then I remembered he probably didn’t understand Standard. He bowed.

I know there’s a harness attached to my chair. I’ll use that. I visualized myself secured by the harness.

He bowed again and walked away.

I am a little blue cookie box.

I hid in my cabin. Went out just long enough to use the washroom facilities, or grab my meals, which were okay. (I understood there were special preparations on board for me.) Four days wasn’t terribly long. I could live with that.

We were about an hour into the flight when the knock came again. This time, though, it wasn’t the attendant. It was a male, of indeterminate age, tall even for a Mute. Too tall for the passageway, forcing him to hunch down. He looked at me with stone-cold eyes and I wondered whether he was reading my discomfort. He wore dull blue leggings and a loose shirt, an outfit not uncommon among the Mutes I’d seen, although they usually preferred robes.

I stood staring up at him. Then I heard a click, and an electronic voice said, “Hello.

Are you all right?”

I tried to push everything out of my mind, save a return greeting. “Hello,” I said. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good. I know this sort of thing can be unsettling.”

“No. I’m fine. No problem at all.” And I thought about the logic of trying to lie to a mind reader.

“Can I be of assistance?”

“I think you just have been.”

“Excellent.” The voice was coming from an amulet. “May I point out that, whatever you may think, you are among friends.”

Naked among friends. And I tried to pull that one back.

He hesitated. I began to understand he didn’t want to let me see he could actually probe me.

I was trying to decide whether to invite him in. “I appreciate your concern,” I said.

“Do not take any of this experience seriously. We will be together four days, more or less. At the end of which we will go our separate ways. So nothing you do here can harm you.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Would you like to join us? We would be very happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes. Of course.” He backed away, making room for me. I followed him, closing the door behind me. “My name is Chase.”

“You would probably find mine unpronounceable. Call me-” I literally felt his presence in my head. “Call me Frank.”

Had I been thinking about the flight attendant on the Dipsy-Doodle? “Okay, Frank.” I extended my hand.

I passed my notebook around and the other passengers used it to ask questions. Where was I from? Had I been in the Assemblage before? Where was I headed? Why was I so afraid? (This last came from a child who had participated reluctantly and seemed almost as fearful as I was.) Frank was quite good. “There is nothing that can pass through your mind that we have not seen before,” he said. “Except, perhaps,” he added, “your squeamishness in our presence.”

Don’t hold back, big fella. Just let me have it.

Several of them poked one another and bobbed their heads in what must have been laughter.

I asked Frank whether it wasn’t distracting to be constantly experiencing a flow of thought and emotions from others.

“I can’t imagine life without it,” he explained. “I’d be cut off.” His red eyes focused on me. “Don’t you feel isolated? Alone?”

Over the course of the trip, I learned that a blending of minds lends an extra dimension to what lovers feel for each other. Or friends. That telepathy facilitates a deeper communication. That no, there is not any evolution that any of the Ashiyyur are aware of toward a group mind. In fact they laughed when I relayed Joe’s theory.

“We are individuals, Chase,” said one of the females, “because we can see so plainly the differences between ourselves and others.”

“We can’t hide from what we think,” Frank told me on the second day. “Or what we feel. And we know that. My understanding is that humans are not always honest even with themselves. I can’t understand how that could be, but it’s a fascinating concept.

On another subject, we’re aware of your struggle against your coarser notions. But we all have them. So we think nothing of it. It is part of what we are, what you are, so we accept it.

“And by the way, there is no need to be embarrassed by your reflexive reaction to our appearance. We find you unappealing also.” He stopped and looked around. I had by then picked up some of the nonverbal cues they used, and several signaled their displeasure at his statement. “I should amend that,” he said, “to physically unappealing. But we are coming to know your interior, your psyche. And there we find that you are one of us.”