“That I was one of the men chasing you?” Ron shook his head. “You know better than that.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know — now.”
He didn’t have to ask how she knew or what she was. Gently he ran his fingers through her soaking hair, touching the soft, horn-like protuberances high on her forehead, the betraying nodules of the telepath, and his hand trembled as he drew it away.
“You know?” he said, and swallowed with unfamiliar shame.
“You can’t help it,” she said softly. “None of us can help what we are or what we do. The blame lies there.” She pointed to where the dim glow of the suspended lights shone in the sky. “Our fathers,” she whispered, and bitterness weighed in her voice. “Are we to blame for, what we are?”
He didn’t answer, feeling again the burning rage and helpless anger at those who had so much and gave so little. They would kill him if they could, he knew that, they would smash his life and laugh as he writhed beneath their torture. They would do that and feel a glow of satisfaction at a thing well done, a warm, peculiarly human glow at dealing cruelty and death to a helpless creature. They would drink and laugh and praise each other, forgetting that they themselves were responsible for what he was, or if they remembered, wiping out the memory with stern, self-righteous justification.
They were human, weren’t they? They owned the world, didn’t they? Then kill and destroy everything the slightest bit different. Burn the telepath for the accidental that which could remake the shattered world. Rip apart the distorted creatures with extra limbs or misplaced organs. Hang those with eidetic memory, shoot those with precognition, stab the beings with two hearts, six fingers, the ability to heal by touch or an instinctive awareness of the workings of the human brain. Torture the creatures who were starving and who ate dead flesh, and drive a stake through the hearts of those with mutated stomachs who found it impossible to absorb other than a specific liquid nourishment.
Kill! Kill; Kill until the human race breeds true again and the blasted genes and chromosomes are with the thing that caused them — a sickening memory of the past.
But the mutants didn’t want to be killed.
“Could it be done, Ron?” She stared at him aware, without the necessity of words, of what was in his mind. He sighed.
“I don’t know. Call it a dream, perhaps, an idle fancy, but how long can we last as we are?”
“Some of us will live,” she said. “Those that manage to cross the line.”
“Is that what you tried to do?”
“Yes.” She swallowed and he caught the impact of her mental pain. “My mother and I managed to live in the town. We did dressmaking, sewing, anything, and for a long while we managed to hide the fact that we were — different.”
“Your mother?” He stared at her, realizing for the first time just how young she was.
“Yes. We lived quietly until that man—” She bit her lips. “He was drunk, spoiling for trouble or a woman, and he chose us. I knew what he wanted, of course, and so did mother and she tried to save us. Somehow he guessed, it’s hard not to act naturally with them, and he—” She shuddered and instinctively Ron slipped his arm about her shoulders. “Mother got between us and warned me to run.”
“I know the rest,” he said harshly. “Three shots for killing when one would have been enough, then two more fired by hate and detestation. Human!” He made the word sound like a curse.
“What can we do, Ron?”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” he said grimly. “They almost caught me tonight and each time I have to—” He swallowed. “Each time the danger increases. One day my luck will run out, or they will decide on a clean-up of the ruins, or maybe they will go back to identification tattoos, anything. We’re on the losing side unless we get together and do something about it.”
“Could we?”
“Why not? I’ve a gun now, and cartridges for it. With money I can buy more. Then we can get together, leave this area, go somewhere remote where we won’t be bothered.” He touched her arm. “We could marry, have children, teach them and build a new civilization. Even though’ it doesn’t know it, or won’t admit it, the human race is dying out. The mutants will take over merely because more mutants will be born than normals. If we had somewhere safe for them to grow up in—” He gripped her shoulders. “We’re more intelligent than they are. Look at the way they use captured slaves to drag their carts, when a slight adaptation of the Zamboni piles would give them all the power they need. Even I know that, and others of us must know more. We could do it!”
“We could try,” she said evenly, and stared at him. “How about you? Must you have—”
“Animals will serve,” he said harshly. “But where are the animals?”
“We could each give a little,” she said thoughtfully. There isn’t really a problem there at all.” Hope lit her eyes. “Ron! Are you serious?”
“Why ask?” he said gently. “Can’t you tell?”
“Yes,” she said happily. “Yes. I can tell.”
For a long time they sat in the darkness and now the pains within him seemed more bearable than ever before. Now he had something to complete his life and, without asking, he knew that she was his. Someone to share the lonely hours, to comfort and help, to warm and cherish. A soft and vibrant woman to help meet the future, a woman who would, perhaps, mother the beginnings of a new race.
But first they needed money.
Money for weapons, for guns and ammunition, for tools and thick clothing. Money to ease their passage and to buy the things the new community would need. Some things they could find, others take, but money could obtain the crude instruments, the rare metals and the essential Geiger counters still to be found and bought. They had to have money.
“Gambling,” she said. “They gamble in the taverns; one of the games is guessing which is the highest of three cards.” She smiled. “Naturally they cheat, the dealer knows which will win, but I’m a telepath.”
“So you could read his mind and tell me how to bet!” Ron counted the few coins in his pockets. “We could do it. It would be risky, of course, but if we don’t win too much at a time we could do it.” He held out the captured pistol. “Here. Take this, hide it under your dress and use it if you have to.” He rose and gripped her shoulders
“You’re staying with me now,” he said. “I have a cave in the ruins, not much but it will do until we move.” He kissed her.
“Yes?”
“Of course — until we move.”
Together they moved towards the distant lights.
Late as it was the main street still resounded to the sounds of a frenzied, almost desperate amusement. Men and women eddied through the open doors of the taverns, and the spring jukebox still tried to emulate what passed for music. Above the laughter and discordant jazz the sound of clinking glasses and shuffling feet mingled with the drone from the tables, where smoothed faced men watched their customers lose, and lose, and keep on losing. All the play was in coins, no paper money had survived the effects of heat and time, rats and constant handling. Copper, some silver and a little gold made up the coinage and the players bet as much as they wished.
Ron slumped in a vacant chair, the girl standing just behind him, and tensed himself as the old, familiar fear began to tear at his guts. He would pass, he knew that. Despite his rags of clothing, his deathly pale skin and soaking wet condition, he could pass. He bore no outward signs of his inward difference and humanity had long ago lost all respect for outward conventions.
The game was a simple one, three cards, one an ace, flipped and placed by expert fingers, the trick being to find the ace.
“Come on, gents,” droned the gambler. “Even money bets. The more you put down the more you pick up.” The cards flashed between his fingers, the ace showing for a moment as it fell.