Knot pondered briefly. She had paid him a considerable compliment, unknowingly—but it also showed the challenge. He had a high level to maintain, and not every mutant could be made useful. His chief skill was the ability to align mutants with employments no one else would have thought of, but a certain amount of luck was important.
“Most of our tasks are menial, but they are necessary to our best functioning as an enclave,” Knot said/signaled. “You don’t object to routine physical labor, so long as you know it is productive?”
Greta agreed with a forceful motion of her hoofed fist.
“Let me see your foot,” Knot said.
Surprised, she showed her feet. Her legs were human, and fairly good ones at that, but the extremities were indeed like hooves. They were cloven in three or four places, marking where the toes should be, but the nails were so gross as to dominate the entire digits.
“We have a local winery,” Knot said/signaled. “We don’t like the tax burden on imported beverages, but we have to process all our water anyway, and we do like our relaxation. So we do for ourselves. Perhaps some year MM58 vintage will be renowned in the galaxy. But since at the moment the authorities governing the good planet of Nelson frown on such activity, we operate quietly. We use no power equipment, no foreign additives. We just press the grapes—they’re not really grapes, but we like to call them that—we press them in ancient and time-honored fashion.”
“Trample out the vintage?” she asked, catching on.
“Your feet would seem to be admirably suited to the labor. Our grapes have small spines that make it difficult for ordinary human feet to press them properly, and of course we don’t use footwear for this. So if you don’t find it offensive or morally objectionable—”
“I’m thrilled!” she signaled. “It’s much better than carrying buckets of water nowhere!”
Knot tapped the intercom. He had made another good placement. “After a day’s hard work, our men grow lusty and thirsty,” he concluded. “They like anything associated with their drink.”
Greta, obviously starved for male companionship, seemed to be considering the prospects as she left. Knot never neglected the social angle; here where every person was mutant, deformities and differences that were prohibitive elsewhere became negligible. In general, the more closely a person approached human norm, the more attractive he or she was considered to be—but there was an extremely broad middle ground, and almost anyone could find a partner if he or she really wanted to.
“PC Knot scores again,” York murmured over the intercom in the moment Knot was alone. It was a standing joke between them. CC was the abbreviation of the Coordination Computer, which fitted mutants to specialized positions on a galactic scale. Knot did it only for this enclave. But there was a similarity between their jobs. York teased him because she knew he did not like the Coordination Computer.
The third client was indeed special. She was young and pretty and so completely normal in appearance that he was startled. But there were many non-apparent forms of mutation. She could have an exotic chemical imbalance that prevented her from functioning normally. She might have eyeballs in her belly, concealed by her clothing. She might have brain tissue in her chest and a spleen in her head. York had no note on any such thing, but York was not infallible. He would simply have to fathom her mutancy for himself, by observation and careful questioning, and proceed from there.
Knot started his routine introduction, but the girl leaned forward and turned off his intercom. In the process her blouse separated from her torso in the fashion blouses had been designed to do for thousands of years, showing that there were certainly no eyeballs or brain tissue in that portion of her anatomy. Her breasts were fully as firm and shapely as York’s, and there were only two, so that there was no undue crowding.
Knot forced his attention back to business. He started to protest her action, though he really would not have minded if she had leaned forward similarly ten more times.
But before he spoke, she brought out a printed card. It said AUDITOR.
Oh no! A surprise audit of the enclave! And he had just placed a client in a quasi-legal position, making moonshine wine. Also, more insidious: This meant this woman was in fact a normal, so that all of her visible and suggested attributes were genuine. That provided a retroactive luster to his recent glimpse, exciting him and embarrassing him simultaneously.
The woman watched him with calm amusement. She had certainly turned the tables on him! Knot nodded with rueful resignation. He activated his intercom. “York, this client poses special problems. I’ll have to take her on a tour of the premises before I can make a placement.”
“Understood,” the secretary answered. Her tone was disapproving; she was evidently suspicious that he wanted to get an especially attractive min-mute into a truly private nook for a seduction. His office made such things feasible, for those mutants who did not get suitably placed were not permitted to remain in the enclave beyond a reasonable grace period. Knot wished York’s suspicion were true; he did have an eye for the women. He knew that York felt that if he wanted to seduce anyone today, she should be first in line. But now, not only did he have no chance with this luscious client, he would incur York’s wrath anyway. It would be hard to convince her of the truth.
“We can’t be overheard outside,” Knot murmured as they emerged from the office. The sky was now completely clear; day was well established. “Do you want the full tour, or shall I fill you in on the enclave indiscretions at the outset and save us both time?”
She smiled. Knot, accustomed to the efforts of mutants who often had strange faces, was surprised again; she was beautiful. Even after allowing for the fact of her normalcy, the humanoid ideal. Normals differed from each other less than mutants did, but this one had to be close to the positive extreme. “Show me the leadmuter.”
Knot grimaced, surprised a third time. “You have a better source of information than we thought.”
“Much better,” she agreed with a smugness that would have been objectionable in anyone else. She held out her petite, five-digited hand. “My name is Finesse.”
He shrugged and took the hand in his huge right. She drew him in toward her, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on his cheek. She smelled refreshingly of pine needles.
“Finesse,” he said. “Is that literal or allegorical?’’
“Yes.” She shifted to his small left hand, neatly interlocking her four fingers with his three and capturing his thumb with her own, and walked beside him. The mutants that they passed glanced enviously, not recognizing either of then but wishing they did.
“I presume this is a friendly audit,” Knot said, “Or are you merely making sure I cannot slip away?” he gave his hand a token shake, as though hefting shackles. He did not care to admit how exciting it was to have a lovely normal turn on to him as if he were attractive to her. She had an ulterior motive, of course—but what was it? She could have required the leadmuter information of him without ever touching his hand.
“Never trust an auditor,” she said, squeezing his hand. She had to have noticed his disparity of fingers, but gave no sign of aversion. “Every one of then will deceive you.”
Fair warning! But she really hadn’t provided any information yet, straight or deceiving. It seemed he would have to wait on her convenience.
“The leadmuter is separate from the main enclave,” he said. “In an isolated region, with a difficult approach. Not suitable for clothing like yours.”
“You wish me to remove it?”
Yes! he thought. And said aloud: “I was hinting that you night prefer to come back at another time, dressed for the occasion. Boots, leather breeches, outdoor gloves—”
“During which period of delay the exhibit would disappear?” she asked, smiling to disarm the charge.
Knot essayed a gesture of denial—and found he could not, for she still held his hand captive. The enclave had been audited before, many times, for the powers that existed on
the planetary level were suspicious of success. But never an audit like this. Knot became reluctantly more suspicious. “May I see your credentials?”
“You perused them pretty well in your office.” But she finally let go his hand and fished in her bosom, bringing out an ID disk on a neck-chain. She faced him so as to bring the disk close to him, and held it up beside her face. The illumination came on, showing the holograph of her head, with her name, code and position. She was a legitimate Coordination Computer Auditor.
“CC?” he exclaimed, distracted from the physical credentials that were again in view below the legal ones. “You’re from off-world?”
“Naturally. Did you think I was a back-planet girl?”
This was a new dimension. He had assumed she was a Planet Nelson representative. Yet it was hardly possible to counterfeit such IDs; only the Computer staff commanded the authority and technology. In addition, he noticed now, she had the forearm tattoo pattern of a space traveler. This was a galactic audit!
“Satisfied?” Finesse inquired with another sunny smile.
“No. Since when does a galactic auditor hold hands with the auditee?”
“Was I holding hands with the whole enclave?” she asked with mock alarm.
“The enclave is innocent of this particular crime. I represent the enclave administration, and that is what you are auditing, I presume. But you hardly need to play up to me; you can have me fired if I do not cooperate with you in every way.”
“True,” she agreed sweetly, taking his hand again. “Why do you resist?”
Why, indeed? he thought. You are begging for seduction, and unless you are a nymphomaniac, this is too suspicious to be accepted. And he almost imagined be heard an answer: Smart man!
“I am not so naive as to believe that an attractive normal woman representing CC itself prefers to dally with a mutant.”
“Some normals have perverse tastes.”
She said it lightly, but the remark chilled him. Some normals did indeed have abnormal inclinations. They had a twisted fascination for deformity. The strange aspects of mutants turned these normal people on sexually. Yet many mutants were so eager for the attention of normals that they would put up with the most extreme indignities for it. If Finesse were a person of power with the taste for perversion, she could make things extremely difficult for him. He did not like perversion—but his enclave was hostage for his behavior, and he would have to do whatever she demanded.
This was, of course, exactly the sort of leverage he exerted against incoming mutant females that attracted him. Knot could appreciate the irony of it, that a woman he had at first taken for a mutant was now putting him in this position. No doubt he deserved it. Fortunately, he had a special resource. He could manage.
“A penny for your thoughts,” she said.
“A genuine Earth-type ancient bronze coin?”
“Of course not. They’re collector’s items. Rarity has made them appreciate so inordinately in value that they are now actually worth their face amount. Would you accept another kiss instead?”
What was this? “Do I have a choice?”
“You’re avoiding the issue.”
“You play with fire. How do you know I won’t take you into the wilderness, rape you, and drop your body in a bog, never to be found again?”
“What, never?”
“Once a body is mired, it can remain for millennia. Old Earthly fossils, dinosaurs, were found—”
“No decent bogs here, according to the geography I checked.”
“There are things here that the geography does not dream of.” All too true, as she must know.
“Then I suppose I should answer your question.” She brought out another disk. “I have an alarm bleeper. You would not be too thrilled if I set it off before you were through.”
Knot nodded soberly. Actually, any threat to an auditor would create enormous mischief. His question had been an expression of petulance rather then any real threat, and she knew it. She could play with him as she wished, with virtual impunity. That was exactly what she seemed inclined to do.
“You can have it,” she said, handing him the disk.
Yes, she was playing with him. She was cocksure. Bye and bye, in his own fashion, he would play with her. She was not dealing with an ordinary patsy, this time. Her experience on other worlds gave her confidence that was not necessarily warranted.
The route, as he had warned, was devious and difficult. The leadmuter was supposed to be an enclave secret, and was well hidden out of the way. They had to climb a rocky escarpment, wedge through a thick tangle of brush, and wade through a cold stream.
“You’re right,” Finesse said. “I would have been better off without clothes.”
“Except for the brambles,” he agreed. “It grows easier once we pass the brushland. Then you may take off your clothes if you wish to.”
“I may. Is this terrain comfortable for the leadmuter?”
“No. Fortunately he doesn’t have to experience it. He works in a cave.”
“I didn’t know this was cave country.”
“It isn’t, according to your geography.”
“You rather fascinate me.”
“Mutual, I’m sure.”
She turned her sweetly tousled face toward him, brushing a tress out of her eyes. “I have given you every opportunity, but you haven’t taken advantage of me yet. Are you normally this slow, or are you unconscionably shy?”
“I wouldn’t want that alarm to bleep.”
“You have charge of it!” she protested, her bosom heaving enticingly.
“A voice-activated device keyed to your voice? I merely hold it; I don’t control it.”
“But you left it the other side of the river,”
Knot patted his pockets. “I must have dropped it.”
“That was the most gentle drop I ever watched. Were you afraid of breaking it?”
She was one hideously perceptive female. He had not spied her watching him. “Some of these things go off when broken,” he admitted. “That could have been awkward.”
“So you were setting me up—but you haven’t made your move. Or did I miss it?”
“These things do take time.”
“You must have remarkably easygoing reflexes.”
“The flesh is willing, but the spirit is cautious.”
“You don’t trust me,” she complained.
“Well, you did warn me about auditors.”
She laughed, “So I did. I didn’t mean you to take it so to heart.”
“I trust you to do your business. I’m not sure what that business is.”
“You have a microscopic memory. I’m an auditor.”
Knot felt a chill. Why her reference to memory? “Fortunately, I’m not an auditor. I don’t need to entrap anyone.” She drew on his arm. “Did I offend you? I apologize and offer to make delicious amends.”
“No offense,” he said quickly. He had the growing feeling that he was fencing with someone of greater skill than his own.
“But you reacted.” She turned a beautifully innocent gaze on him. “Knot, I don’t want it to be negative between us. What did I say to hurt you?”
“We mutants can be very sensitive about our abnormalities, in the presence of normals.” That wasn’t it, but he was most concerned that she not catch on to his real worry.
“Six-four fingers? That’s hardly enough to notice. I’m sure I haven’t noticed.”
“Obviously.” He had to smile, relaxing. She was on the wrong track. “Here is the cave.”
“Already? We were just getting warmed up.”
“There’s always the return trip. I know a longer, more scenic route.”
“Oh? I thought you distrusted my motive.”
“I do. So I had better ascertain what it is before letting you go.”
“That’s more like it.” She peered into the cave. “Is it safe?”
“Should be. It has endured for thousands of minutes.”
&nb
sp; “You hollowed out a whole cave, just to hide your project?”
“Well, it isn’t easy to hollow out half a cave.”
She delivered a reproving glance. She was so cute it was hard for him to keep properly in mind that she was extremely hazardous to his welfare. “The leadmuter did it, before we tuned him in to lead. He changed the rock to lead because the metal was denser and occupied less space than ordinary material. He hollowed out quite a chamber, entertaining himself.”
“I don’t understand. You said he did this before he learned about lead, yet—”
“He turned ordinary rock to lead, at first. Then it occurred to us that if he could do that, he might in turn convert the lead to something even more dense. So we persuaded him to change his lead to gold, almost twice as compact. That pleased him, because it gave him more room in his cave with less debris. Then we started using the gold for our artwork—the enclave has a number of fine sculptors and other artisans—so we did him the additional favor of hauling the gold out of his way. That keeps his cave entirely clean, so he’s happy. We tuned him into lead as a raw material, instead of as a product.”
“Lead transmuted into gold,” Finesse murmured. “No wonder your enclave is self-sufficient.”
“Oh, we don’t sell much of the gold,” Knot hastened to assure her. “We do trade some of it for other things we need.”
“Barter,” she agreed. “Avoiding discovery and taxation.”
“Until now,” he agreed glumly.
“Not to mention the matter of concealing a viable psi-mute in an enclave allocated for phys-mutes.”
“Not to mention,” he agreed again. This was real trouble. Fortunately, he had his way to alleviate it—provided he was able to play his trump effectively.