to your own planet.”
“There’s no earthmen to kill on Lyria,” Calvin insisted stubbornly. “Please stop the war.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The alien smiled kindly. “You have the proper spirit. You are all very good children. You hurry, now, and practice all you can.”
I can see Lyria’s star now, Walt thought. We’ll be home in another year, then. How welcome that will be . . . .
He had not broadcast the thought. And suddenly, as if on another channel, another frequency, he felt Calvin in his mind and his mind in Calvin’s—an odd, unexpected blending of thoughts that seemingly had occurred unconsciously.
Forential describes it so it is so pretty, our planet, Calvin was thinking: Green wartle rivers whack throw the ball at him, easy now . . . . God, I hate those earthmen.
“I’ll practice,” Walt made Calvin say. He made Calvin hold the ball stationary. Then the contact between their minds was broken.
“Who did that?” Calvin demanded. “I’ll hit him and break all his bones!”
Forential smiled sadly at Calvin and withdrew.
“It’s nearly time,” a mutant rejoiced. “God, I hate them, every one of them.”
The mutants instinctively began forming their minds for the death radiation.
“They’ll issue the rods shortly,” Walt said.
Hatred blazed on Calvin’s face. He had already forgotten about the contact a moment before. “I will kill them even without a rod.”
“The radiation isn’t lethal unless we have something to focus it with, remember that.”
“With my hands!” Calvin cried happily. “I will kill them with my hands!”
Sweat beaded John’s face. “There will be enough of killing.”
It will be great pleasure to hunt them down.
They will kill some of us, Walt thought back. And, to himself: I wish I could be afraid.
Not me! Calvin thought joyously. It was uncertain when Calvin could telepath. Not me!
They have powerful weapons, too. Atom bombs, they are called. It will not be easy to kill them all. This thought came as a reminder from one of the aliens.
Calvin moved his powerful hands. “I can kill them all by myself.”
*
The smaller compartment, itself, was huge. To the left lay the hydroponics tanks, and to the right, the mutants’ cubicles. In the center of the compartment was the games space where the mutants boxed and wrestled and exercised with weights. The walls of each cubicle were so designed as to produce the illusion of great distances. The mutants would be required to face vast open spaces, and their cubicles partially conditioned them for the experience. Huge as their world was, it was miniscular compared to the one that would confront them.
Calvin, sitting beside Walt in Walt’s cubicle, was trying to express an abstract concept.
“ . . . Forential is afraid of earthmen,” he said. He puckered his face in a frown. “I have just thought of that.”
“Forential is afraid of everything,” Walt said respectfully.
“I remember once when I shoved him he was very afraid. I shouldn’t have,” Calvin said, “ . . . it must be wonderful to be afraid.”
“He is more advanced than we are.”
“We can kill earthmen, though,” Calvin said. “He’s too afraid to; so we get to kill them for him.”
“You got it wrong; you always get things wrong. We are killing earthmen for ourselves.”
“Oh, yes,” Calvin nodded. “I forget.”
“Forential is a friend,” Walt said. “He helps the Lyrians from the goodness of his heart.”
“Earthmen are very bad.”
“That’s right.”
“They are a great evil,” Calvin said excitedly.
“They must be killed.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Calvin agreed. “I will kill them with my hands.” He fell silent, thinking.
“ . . . there is a Lyrian on Earth,” Walt said slowly “I have been hearing her thoughts.”
“I can think to you,” Calvin said proudly. “Listen.” He concentrated. Muscles in his jaws quivered, “ . . . not today,” he said sadly. “My brain . . . sometimes . . . you know? . . . sometimes . . . .”
“I am hearing thoughts from a Lyrian on Earth,” Walt said in dull amazement. “Do you understand?”
“No; no.”
“It’s a female.”
“All the females are on Lyria . . . . This is a man’s work. We are . . . are going to fight for females, isn’t that right?”
“I tell you,” Walt said, “she’s down there. The first time, I thought I was mistaken.”
Calvin shook his head and flipped the ball toward an unseen mutant. “I can do that good,” he said. The ball whistled back at him through the cubicle wall—leaving the wall unmarked as the atoms of one passed through the atomic spaces of the other. Happily, Calvin stopped it in mid flight.
“She’s down there,” Walt said. “I’ll have to tell Forential about her.”
Calvin tapped his head and smiled. “I think funny thoughts some times, too. You go see Forential. He can’t help, but you go see him, Walt.”
“I wasn’t sure until just before you came in,” Walt said.
“You go see him,” Calvin said.
Walt stood up. “I was thinking with her just a little while ago. I don’t understand it.”
“I can think to you . . . some times.”
“I’ll be back,” Walt said.
*
At the steel ladder leading up toward the alien section, Walt stopped and pressed the emergency-audience button. He waited for permission to ascend the ladder. Under no circumstance would he have ascended without it. The permissive light blinked.
He began to climb. At the ceiling hatch, he grunted and pressed against it with his shoulders. The hatch lifted away. He continued upward. Gravity lessened. His feet made soft, rustling noises.
He
