For Love of Mother-Not (6 page)

The tall black woman leaned closer to the screen. “Number Twelve—that sticks in the mind. Male, wasn’t it?”

Nyassa-lee nodded and indicated the screen. “Here, I’ll run the relevants back for you.”

They refamiliarized themselves with the details of the case in question. It had been eight years since case interdiction. In the eight years since, they had encountered a number of other subjects. Most of them had grown into normal childhood. A few had even displayed tiny flashes of promise, but nothing worth a full-scale follow-up.

Then there had been those whose minds and bodies had been horribly distorted and twisted by the original surgical manipulations, for which they each shared the blame. Unfortunate failures such as those had been made public by the government and had raised such an emotional outcry among the scientifically unsophisticated public that the government had been able to legalize its witch hunt against the Society.

Most of the subject children had been recovered by the government, raised in special homes, and restored to normality. Where possible, the genetic alterations performed by the Society’s surgeons had been corrected to enable all the children to live a normal life.

If we cannot improve upon the normal, thought Haithness, then we do not deserve to explore and master the universe. Nature helps those who help themselves. Why should we not employ our learning and knowledge to give evolution a boost?

From the far corner of the darkened room, a man called out. “Brora reports that a government shuttle has landed at Calaroom shuttleport.”

“Could be the usual load of agricultural specialists,” Cruachan said thoughtfully.

“Possible,” agreed the individual manning the communications console, “but can we afford that risk?”

“I hate to order evacuation on such slim evidence. Any word on how many passengers?”

“Hard to say,” the man ventured, listening intently to his receiver. “Brora says at least a dozen he doesn’t recognize.”

“That’s a lot of agricultural specialists, Cruachan,” Haithness pointed out.

“It is.” He called across to the communications specialist. “Tell Brora to pull back and prepare for departure. We can’t take chances. Push evac time from a month to tonight.”

“Tonight?” The voice of the communicator had a dubious ring. “I won’t have half the equipment broken down by then.”

“New communications equipment we can buy,” Cruachan reminded him. “Replacements for ourselves are not available.”

The man at the com console nodded and turned back to his station, speaking softly and hurriedly into the pickup. Cruachan returned his attention to the computer screen.

Information emerged.
NUMBER TWELVE. MALE. PHYSICALLY UNDISTINGUISHED AS A CHILD
. Next were descriptions of cerebral index and figures for cortical energy displacement.

Oh, yes; Cruachan remembered now. Unpredictable, that Number Twelve. Patterns in brain activity suggesting paranormal activity but nothing concrete. Particularly fascinating
had been the amount of activity emerging from the left side of the cerebrum, usually detected only in females. That by itself was not reason enough for excitement, but there were also continuous signs of functioning in at least two sections of brain that were not normally active, the “dead” areas of the mind. That activity, like the child himself, had also been unpredictable.

And yet, despite such encouraging evidence, the case history of Number Twelve was devoid of the usual promising developments. No hint of telepathy, psychokinesis, pyrokinesis, dual displacement, or any of the other multitude of abilities the Society had hoped to bring to full flower in its experimental children.

Still, Number Twelve at least exhibited a possible something.

“Well, this one certainly shows more promise than the last dozen or so,” Haithness had to admit. “It’s been so long since we had contact with him, I’d nearly forgotten those activity readings. We need to get to this one as quickly as possible. Where’s he situated?”

Nyassa-lee tapped keys below the readout, bringing forth answers. “Where in the Commonwealth is that?” Haithness grumbled.

“Trading world,” Cruachan put in, thinking hard. “Centrally located but unimportant in and of itself. A stopover world, low in native population.”

“You won’t mind going there once you’ve seen this,” Nyassa-lee assured them both. Her fingers moved delicately over the keyboard a second time, and fresh information glowed on screen. “This is recent, from the local operative who relocated the subject. It appears that the child has definitely displayed one Talent, possibly two. Furthermore, he has done so in public and apparently without any specialized training.”

“Without training,” Cruachan whispered. “Remarkable, if true.”

Nyassa-lee tapped the screen. “This operative has been reliable in the past and particularly noteworthy for the accuracy of his observations. The Talent in question is a telepathic
variant of some sort. The operative is not a scientifically trained observer, of course, and he is even less certain of the second one, though its potential value may be even greater.”

“What is it?” Haithness asked.

“I’ve been hard put to find a name for it. Basically, it seems that the child may be an emolterator.”

The other woman looked confused. “I don’t remember that on the list of possible Talents.”

“It wasn’t there. It’s an original. Original with this child, it seems,” Cruachan said. Nyassa-lee nodded. “It means that he may be able to influence the actions of others. Not mind control, nothing as strong as that. It would be more subtle. One possessing such an ability would have to utilize it very carefully. If this report is true …” His voice and thoughts drifted for a moment as he studied the readout.

“It seems the child’s Talents have gone unnoticed by the authorities and that he has developed naturally. All without even the most rudimentary training. The signs certainly point to powerful potentials waiting to be unlocked.”

“Either the child has grown up unaware of these Talents,” Nyassa-lee said, studying new information as it appeared on the screen, “or else he is precociously clever.”

“It may be just natural caution,” Haithness put in. “It will be interesting to find out which is the case.”

“Which we will do,” Cruachan said firmly. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a subject as promising as this one come back to us. He could be the one we’ve searched for all these years.”

“It had better not be a repeat of the last time we located a subject with these figures,” Haithness cautioned, then indicated the new figures materializing on the screen. “Look at those neurological potentials. Remember the only other child who showed numbers like that?”

“Of course, I remember,” Cruachan said irritably. “We won’t lose this one the way we lost that girl—what the devil was the little monster’s name?”

“Mahnahmi,” Nyassa-lee reminded him. “Yes, if this boy’s
anything like that one, we’re going to have to be extremely careful. I couldn’t take a repeat of that experience.”

“Neither could I, frankly,” Cruachan admitted. “Our mistake was in trying to regain control over her directly. End result: the girl vanishes again, and two more of the Society go to a premature end. And we’re still not sure how she accomplished it.”

“We’ll run across her again someday, when our methods are improved,” Haithness said coolly. “Then we’ll deal with her properly.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to chance it.” Nyassa-lee looked back at the screen. “Meanwhile, it would be good to keep in mind the fact that the potential of this Number Twelve theoretically exceeds even that of the girl.”

“True,” Cruachan admitted, studying the figures, “but it’s clear that his development has been much slower. We should have plenty of time to cope with any maturing Talent and make certain it is safely contained, for the child’s benefit as well as our own, of course.”

“Of course,” Haithness agreed calmly. “I am curious to know how you propose to accomplish that. You know how volatile a Talent can become if stressed.”

“Yes, the girl gave us an impressive demonstration of that, didn’t she?” Nyassa-lee’s fingers brought forth fresh information from the console.

Another call sounded from across the room. “Brora says he’s now convinced that the new arrivals at the port have nothing to do with the agricultural station. They have not stopped by the Agri section of government house; they are gathering instead in the subterranean quarter.”

“Tell Brora to speed things up,” Cruachan replied. “I definitely want the installation broken down by midnight.”

“Yes, sir,” the communicator responded briskly.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Haithness reminded the tall man. “How are we going to handle this one? If we try direct control as we did with the girl, we risk the same consequences. There is no way of predicting how a subject may react.”

“Remember that the girl was still in infancy when we encountered her. We wrongly mistook her age for harmlessness. There was no reason to appeal to in her case—she was too young. I never expected that to work against us.”

“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that he is still unskilled in the use of his Talent. That is also what makes him dangerous.” Haithness indicated the figures on the screen. “Look at those. Undisciplined or not, we must handle this Number Twelve with extreme caution. We need a check of some kind, something strong enough to mute any juvenile emotional reactions.”

Nyassa-lee glanced back and up at her colleague. “But we cannot wait.”

“I agree with you there. This may be our last chance to gain control and direction over a subject with such potential. We don’t want to waste our chance.”

“I am aware of the considerations and risks,” Cruachan assured them both. “I do not intend that we should try, as we did with the girl, to gain control directly. Instead, we will try to obtain control over someone who exercises control over the subject. Is there anyone who fits the requisite pattern?”

Nyassa-lee turned back to her keyboard. There was a pause before she replied, “One. It appears that the subject was purchased from government control by an elderly woman. She has raised the boy as her own.”

“Surrogate mother,” Haithness murmured. “That’s good. It is virtually made to order. We could not hope for a stronger emotional bond.”

There was no warmth in the voice of Haithness. Only one thing mattered to her: the success of the experiment. Time was running out for the Society, she knew; they had no way of knowing when the authorities might close in on them forever. They needed a success
now
, and this boy might be their last chance.

“I see one possible drawback,” Cruachan said while pondering the information glowing on the screen. “The woman in question, the surrogate mother, is of an advanced age,
though apparently healthy.” He nudged Nyassa-lee, who obediently made room for him on the edge of the chair.

Cruachan fingered controls and frowned when the information he sought did not appear on the screen. “No detailed medical information on her. It could be difficult.”

Haithness shrugged indifferently. “It does not matter what her condition is. We have to proceed regardless.”

“I know, I know,” Cruachan replied impatiently. “Our course is set, then. We will not go from here to Loser’s World in hopes of relocating subject Number Fifty-six. Instead, we will establish standard mobile operations aboard the ship. Once we are certain we have escaped pursuit, we will plot course for this Moth. Then we should have enough time to proceed as planned.”

“It will be necessary to isolate the subject from the mother.” Haithness was thinking out loud. “Given the nature of the subject’s observed Talents, if our information is accurate, it may be that within a limited geographical area he might be able to trace our activities. We will naturally need an uninterrupted period with the surrogate,” she hesitated only briefly, “to persuade her to cooperate with us.” A thin smile did little to alter her expression.

Cruachan nodded. “That should not be difficult to arrange. Fortunately for us, Moth is lightly populated. Technology is not unknown, but the level varies widely according to location. We should be able to establish ourselves and the necessary equipment at a sufficient distance from the metropolis where the subject and his parent are living to ensure our privacy and standard security.”

The communicator turned from his instrumentation and interrupted them without hesitation. “Brora reports that at least half of the newly arrived agricultural experts are armed.”

“That’s that, then,” Cruachan murmured with a resigned sigh. Another hurried move, another dash to still another strange world.

“Nyassa-lee, make certain that this information is transferred to ship storage. Haithness, you—”

“I know what needs to be done, Cruachan.” She turned
from him and calmly began transferring data from main storage to a portacube.

The communicator leaned back in his chair and frowned at his instruments. “I won’t have time to break down much and move it out to the shuttle.”

“It doesn’t matter, Osteen,” Cruachan assured him. “We have some duplicate equipment already aboard. I don’t like abandoning more than we have to any more than you do.” He indicated the expensive electronics with which the room had been paneled. “But we don’t have a choice now. Regardless, something promising, truly promising, has come to our notice. After all these years, it appears that we have relocated one of the most promising of all the subject children.”

“That’s good news indeed, sir.” Osteen was one of the few young men in the Meliorare Society. Cruachan would have prefered a man with more vision as prime communicator, but such individuals were scarce. Osteen at least was loyal and efficient. It was not his fault that he was intellectually inferior to the Society’s original membership. But then, such a collection of visionary minds was not likely to join together again in Cruachan’s lifetime, he knew.

Unless … unless the Society could put forth a shining testament to their noble ideals in the person of a single successful subject. This boy, perhaps, might be their vindication. They had to get to him quickly. During the past several years, they had had less and less time in which to work as the Commonwealth closed in on the remnants of the Society. Their survival rate did not bode well for the future: natural attrition was beginning to damage the cause as much as government interference.