"Nothing much. The Mutant-maker had his forces deployed all along the
line. Flam-harol didn't have a chance. Twenty-four mutants were killed,
and eighteen women. Another two-score injured."
"Cluny-ann?"
"Who? Oh yes, the leader of the women. She's all right, I think. But
she said something about tearing you apart limb from limb if she
found you. It seems you weren't where you should have been, and for
that as much as anything else the revolution backfired. It seems you
disappeared." The old man chuckled softly.
"The police took me. So many dead...."
"Police--no! Police uniforms, but counter-revolutionaries, I assure
you. Thanks to psych-tech Ab'nath, we got to you in time. Probably, the
revolution would have failed either way, but more pointless carnage
would have resulted."
"Damn you!" Ker-jon said bitterly. "You stand there yapping about what
might or might not have happened. Forty days of planning went into that
revolution, and all the dreams and hopes of so many mutants--"
The albino blinked. "Ah yes, forty days. Do you know how old I am,
Ker-jon? I'm eighty-seven. I was one of the earlier mutants, and I've
stood this thing a long time. I didn't want any scatterbrained scheme
to knock the legs out from under a plan which is calculated to do more
than you dream. How old are you, Ker-jon?"
"Twenty-four."
"Just a baby, and--"
"Go to hell," said Ker-jon, rising. "I'm going to find Cluny-ann. Maybe
we can salvage something. Maybe--"
"Sit down, will you?" The two uniformed men came in, swaggering. One
motioned Ker-jon back into a chair with his needle-gun, and Ker-jon sat
down. The other said: "I'm sorry we had to hit you. But you fought, and
you didn't give us any choice."
Wearily, Ker-jon turned to the old man. "Just where do you fit in? Are
you working for the Mutant-maker?"
"I said we are counter-revolutionaries. We stood opposed to your plans,
because you favored the wrong fight, at the wrong time, with the wrong
people. Simple?" He chuckled again, a very irritating sound. "No, I
suppose not. Perhaps psych-tech Ab'nath can help explain. Will someone
call him?"
* * * * *
The little balding man with the watery eyes entered the room. "I'm
here," he said. "Ah, I see you have Ker-jon," he smiled, handed a sheet
of paper to the prisoner. "Here, you might be interested in this."
Ker-jon scanned it rapidly. Yesterday, yes, he'd have been interested.
But not today--too much had happened since then.
_Subjects: Bio-technician first class Ker-jon, hydroponics division._
_Dream: (An objective description of the recurrent dream.)_
_Conclusions: a) Both Ker-jon and his betrothed, Cluny-ann, appear as
mutants in the dream-sequence. Four votes for an unstable, neurotic
personality; eleven for obvious feelings of sympathy with the mutants;
one abstention. Alternative two is thus a logical certainty._
_b) The bell-jar machinery is a meaningless bit of gadgetry which
defies analysis. Sixteen votes for symbolic representation of the
Mutant-making machinery, esoteric and unknown to all technicians save
the bio-techs, mutant-making division. Conclusion a logical certainty._
_c) Ker-jon destroys the bell-jar with brute force. Five votes for
an un-neurotic personality's desired destruction of a major social
institution. Eleven for uneasiness and a rigid anxiety concerning
the revolution, for subconscious doubts on Ker-jon's part that a
frontal assault against the Mutant-maker will solve the Ark's problem.
Alternative two a logical certainty._
_d) The warped prismatic effect in the background is crucial. The
red-orange-yellow-green-blue-indigo-violet of the spectrum is replaced
by green-blue-red-orange-yellow, with indigo and violet out of the
sequence entirely. Three votes for mistaken knowledge concerning the
"rainbow" of the ancients, and for no other significance; three votes
for a representation of star-colors (note that indigo and violet,
not visible in any stellar object seen through the astro-port, are
entirely lacking)--three votes for a representation of star-colors for
the subject's desire to associate himself with the stars, hence with
the void of space, hence with death; four abstentions; five for an
immersed subconscious conviction that our knowledge of the "Rainbow"
and hence of the physical sciences is lacking, and that this lack
of knowledge may be crucial to the entire problem. No alternative a
logical certainty, and while the conclusion is indeterminate, the
final alternative is preferred...._
_Comments: Faced with violent action which his subconscious mind
refused to accept as a satisfactory answer, Ker-jon also was confronted
by a recurrent dream fostered by that subconscious rejection. Ker-jon's
subconscious recognized the pending revolution as (1) a displacement in
the order of events, a striving to conquer effects rather than causes
and to leave the whole solution indeterminate, and (2) an inadequate
course of action directed in a frontal assault against the most obvious
effect of the hinted-at ailments which afflict the Ark._
_Solution: Not determined, because conclusion (d) remains inconclusive.
(Once he understands his own problems, Ker-jon should be a great help
to the counter-revolutionaries--Ab'nath.)_
"You see," Ab'nath said, taking the slip of paper back from Ker-jon,
"your subconscious mind couldn't accept the pending revolution. It felt
something was lacking. In that sense, then, your dream was a flight
from reality, a fugue. But it had a constructive aspect as well. It--"
"I know," Ker-jon scoffed. "Sure. You take one small, insignificant
part of the dream, and because it ties in with your own theories, you
blow it up out of all proportion."
The psych-tech shrugged. "Just how did you know the real order of the
spectrum, anyway?"
"I didn't know that I knew it! When I was a child I read a book on the
physical sciences, just to be contrary, I guess."
"Evidently, the knowledge remained in your subconscious, and--"
"So what? You have a vague notion about a deficiency, that's all. So
you destroy a budding revolt which could have restored equality to the
Ark...."
* * * * *
All this time, the old albino man had been listening silently. Now he
said: "The revolution was doomed to failure, Ker-jon; don't you see
that? Even if it achieved its aim, what would have happened then? We
live in a static environment, with no external challenges to keep our
culture going. If you won, the mutants would have taken over; tyranny
would have exchanged hands, that's all. I'm a mutant myself, but I say
this: if you had succeeded, the mutants would have treated non-mutants,
in time, in the same manner the non-mutants treat them. Merely a
reversal of roles. Would you have wanted that?"
"No, but--"
"Wait; let me finish. We have a tremendous external challenge, only
we fail to see it. What is the Ark, Ker-jon? An artificial world,
a manufactured environment. A vessel taking us from someplace to
someplace else. Do you know where we came from?"
"Urth--"
"Yes, but what is Urth? We don't know. It's in the old books, but no
one reads them. And where are we going? Even I don't know that, and I
have tried to find out. The books are not indexed, and it might take
one man years to find out. Working together, a group of men could
shorten that time to months.
"Further, what is the void of space outside? Mere blackness, or--I
don't know. And the stars, the little pin-points of light we see, what
about them? Are they worlds? Was Urth a star; do we now travel towards
another one? Again, I don't know. But we can find out. There is our
challenge, Ker-jon. There is the stimulus which can unite the Ark and
put a permanent stop to internal squabbles. Are you blind to that?"
"I'm not blind to anything, old man! All I know is this: the
revolutionaries are confined. Maybe they await death--thanks to you. I
also know that more men and women each day are exposed forcibly in the
Chamber of Change--which means that a new generation of mutants will
be born. Any challenge on a purely abstract level sounds awful silly,
ridiculously unimportant, pedantically trivial.... Umm-mm, never mind.
You just don't understand."
"Wait," said the albino. "A compromise, Ker-jon. If you can rescue your
fellows, what then?"
"You want an honest answer? I think I'd still hate you and what you
stand for, a tired old man with old, meaningless ideas--"
"Can you rescue your friends alone?"
"I don't know; I can try."
"And wind up wherever they are, awaiting death with them?"
"I said I can try."
"Well, if you had help--let us say, if my two 'policemen' cooperated,
you might pull the whole thing off by trickery, don't you think, with
no bloodshed at all?"
"It's possible," Ker-jon admitted.
"A bargain. We'll help you, but then you must help us. Flam-harol is
the revolutionary leader, but you carry almost as much weight with the
revolutionaries as he does. Very well, if you rescue your people, if
the Ark falls into your hands, will you then cooperate with us?"
"Why the hell didn't you offer that _before_ the revolution? All this
wouldn't have happened."
The albino smiled. "You'd have laughed at us, even as you're probably
laughing to yourself now. But in this case we have something concrete
to offer. Is it a bargain?"
"Sure," Ker-jon said wearily. "We need you now. It's a bargain."
3
The rescue proved so incredibly simple that Ker-jon almost couldn't
believe his senses. With his two uniformed companions he made his way
down the length of the Ark and deep within its bowels, almost to where
the unknown engines which propelled them through space thundered and
roared and pounded within their casings. Here in a deserted storeroom
the prisoners were kept. And Ker-jon's uniformed companions walked
right in, just like that, unquestioned by the guards who stood watch in
the corridor.
The fight was brief. Unleashed, the prisoners swarmed all over their
guards, killing them quite expertly, and quite ruthlessly. No time for
an alarm, and the engines drowned all sounds of combat. Towards the
end, Ker-jon had to turn away. What the mutants did to their captors
wasn't pretty. But in a sense he couldn't blame them--what was the old
expression about the shoe being on the other foot?
Flam-harol stormed out into the corridor, his face a bloody mask. But
he smiled grimly. "This I like! No plans, no preparations--and they
don't expect us! We'll have the Ark in half an hour...."
Behind him Cluny-ann stumbled out, one of her eyes blackened, her jaw
swollen. She stopped short and stared foolishly when she saw Ker-jon.
"Then--then you didn't desert us? Some even thought you'd betrayed us!"
"And I once was betrothed to a beautiful girl," Ker-jon said, laughing.
"You should see yourself now--"
She pecked at his lips with a brief kiss, came back for more, snuggling
in close, but Flam-harol's voice roared at them. "The longer we stay
here, the less chance we'll have. Are you two coming?"
In a wave, the prisoners surged forward, pounding up the corridor. No
order, no discipline--but Ker-jon knew they didn't need it. What they
had was enough: superiority in numbers, surprise....
It seemed hardly a moment later, and they swarmed all over the door to
the Mutant-maker's quarters. Oddly, it crossed Ker-jon's mind that they
didn't even know the man's name. He ruled in anonymity, with his title,
with the fear that a night-raid could bring, dragging a man and his
wife to the Chamber of Change, assuring the next generation that they
too would have their mutants, in ever increasing numbers, for sport,
for ridicule.
Ker-jon never learned how the door was forced, but suddenly it stood
ajar.
Through it streamed the mutants.
Ker-jon found himself in a wild melee. Needle-guns _zipped_; men fell.
But always others surged forward, and the defenders' ranks thinned.
Ker-jon saw one of Flam-harol's lieutenants fall, mortally wounded.
Three mutants took his place, and one of them had retrieved a
needle-gun from a fallen guard. Other weapons appeared among the
mutants, guns, knives, make-shift clubs. Nothing could stop them.
For himself, Ker-jon fought only half-heartedly. The swarm carried him
forward against the defenders, but he struck out only when pressed.
Strangely, he felt an odd detachment. He wasn't really a part of this
carnage; no, he'd been swept into it, helplessly, and now he watched.
It all seemed anti-climactic, pointless. Why? He asked himself that
over and over again, turning once more to the battle when he found the
answer. Did the meeting with the old albino mutant somehow hold the
clue? Did it? Now _there_ was a ridiculous notion!
* * * * *
The wave after wave of mutants pushed forward, and Ker-jon hovered
close to Cluny-ann, protecting, shielding, diverting any foe who
might single her out. She was a spit-fire, he knew, for all her small
size--he'd seen her cut loose in the female gymnastic tournaments. But
he could sense that she hung back, even as he did--unwilling to enter
the fray. Had she once said something about this not being the final
answer? He wondered how she'd have fared in a discussion with the old
albino....
And then it was over. They pushed through a final portal, came upon a
large apartment with strange, impossibly antique furniture. In a far
corner cowered a little man, a little old man--smaller and more ancient
than the albino. He cringed away from them, his limbs trembled. He
babbled, "I surrender, I surrender, I--"
Flam-harol laughed once, then cut him down with a needle-gun. The end
of the Mutant-maker, the man who controlled the destiny of all those
within the Ark. Simple, no theatrics. Smile and cut him down with a
needle-gun. Could that one gesture usher in a new era? Ker-jon did not
know, but more and more the words of the albino returned, swirling
through his brain. _Just a reversal of roles...._
Flam-harol sat down on the plushly upholstered chair. "Will some of you
take your clubs to the Chamber of Change and smash it? I'm a little
tired--"
* * * * *
A week later. Flam-harol had taken the dead Mutant-maker's quarters for
his own. Now he sat there with his lieutenants--two mutants, ridge-head
variety, and Ker-jon--issuing directives.
"I've given it a lot of thought," he told them. "Sweeping changes must
be made if we're to right a nasty situation."
They all agreed.
"First, the jobs of the highest skill will go to ridge-heads.
Turnabout, eh, my friends? Henceforth, ridge-heads are bio-technicians."
Two of his lieutenants smiled, nodded their satisfaction. Ker-jon
said: "I don't know if that's wise. For one thing, you haven't had
training along those lines; you're liable to botch--"
"That's fantastic. If the non-mutants could do it, we can, too. Shall
we vote?"
They did. Three to one.
"You see," Flam-harol explained, "we deserve those jobs."
"Well, what about the current bio-techs?"
"Oh, them. Why, they'll be menials, of course. Not discriminated
against, not really; it's just that they've held their lofty positions
too long."
"It wasn't their fault--" Ker-jon began.
Flam-harol waved a hand deprecatingly. "If you're worried about
yourself and that girl--what's her name?--forget it. You'll be an
exception. I figured on making you go-betweens, assuring peaceful
relations between mutants and non-mutants."
"No, that wasn't it at all. I still don't like--"
"We have voted, have we not?"
"Y-yes."
"Very well. Next, scaled mutants shall be astro-techs."
"You can't do that!" Ker-jon cried. "A man doesn't necessarily fit a
job because he happens to be one type of mutant or another. I'd suggest
a series of tests, instead; let each man fill the job for which he is
qualified."
"Unfair," Flam-harol said. "The non-mutants have had training; they'd
win all the top positions. Shall we vote?"
Three to one.
"Albinos will be police and administrative workers. Finally--"
"Just a minute. Don't you realize that albinos have weak constitutions?
You're relegating them to a position which they won't be able to fill."
Flam-harol smiled blandly. "If the police are weak, then the real power
will remain in the hands of the bio-technicians. That will make for an
era of peace and good-will, and it will assure one thing: we'll never
have a military government."
"I hope you're right about that peace and good-will," one of the
ridge-heads said. "All week long, there's been rioting in the
'low-decks area. Non-mutants on one side, mutants on the other."
"That will end," Flam-harol assured him. "I have confidence. Now, the
job will be to get things going as quickly as possible. I want those
directives carried out at once. The sooner we begin, the sooner we
mutants will have a chance to live the way we should...."
_This is what I fought for_, Ker-jon thought. _So one tyrant could take
the place of another. Maybe Flam-harol doesn't know it; probably he'd
be the last one to admit it. Nevertheless...._