before the group left. They shot him in the back, and the others had to go on without him. Now do you know why I killed the Agent in the third cabin? I had to. Your father was a great man, and I loved him.”
“I don’t blame you, mother,” Earl said simply. “But we are freaks. Everybody says, ‘Konv’ as if it is something dirty. They write it on the walls in rest rooms.”
“Of course they do—because they don’t understand! They are afraid of us. Wouldn’t you be afraid of someone who could do the things we do, if you couldn’t do them?”
Just like that, it was over.
That is, the first shock was over. Mrs. Jamieson watched Earl leave the house, walking slowly along the river, a boy with a man’s problems. His friends called to him from the river, but he chose not to hear. He wanted to be alone. He needed to think, to feel the newness of the thing.
Perhaps he would cross the river and enter the deep forest there. When the initial shock wore off he might experiment with his new power. He would not travel far, in these first attempts. Probably he would stay within walking distance of his clothes, because he still lacked the tricks others had learned.
It was a hot, mucky afternoon with storm clouds pushing out of the west. Mrs. Jamieson put on her swimming suit and wandered down to the river to cool herself.
For the remainder of that summer they worked together. They practiced at night mostly, taking longer and longer jumps, until Earl’s confidence allowed him to reach any part of the Earth he chose. She knew the habits of Agents. She knew how to avoid them.
They would select a spot sufficiently remote to insure detection, she would devise some prank to irritate the Agents; then they would quickly return to Wisconsin. The Agents would rush to the calculated spot, but would find only the bare footprints of a woman and a boy. They would swear and drive back to their offices to dig through files, searching for some clue to their identity.
It was inevitable that they should identify Mrs. Jamieson as one of the offenders, since they had discovered, even before Stinson took his group to Centaurus, that individuals had thought patterns peculiar to themselves. These could be identified, if caught on their detectors, and even recorded for the files. But the files proved confusing, for they said that Mrs. Jamieson had gone to Centaurus with the others.
Had she returned to Earth? The question did not trouble them long. They had more serious problems. Stinson had selected only the best of the Konvs when he left Earth, leaving all those with criminal tendencies behind. They could have followed if they chose—what could stop them? But it was more lucrative to stay. On Earth they could rob, loot, even murder—without fear of the law.
Earl changed.
Even before the summer was over, he matured. The childish antics of his friends began to bore him. “Be careful, Earl,” his mother would say. “Remember who you are. Play with them sometimes, even if you don’t like it. You have a long way to go before you will be ready.”
During the long winter evenings, after they had watched their favorite video programs, they would sit by the fireplace. “Tell me about the great ones,” he would say, and she would repeat all the things she remembered about Stinson and Benjamin and Straus. She never tired of discussing them. She would tell about Benjamin’s wife, Lisa, and try to describe the horror in Lisa’s young mind when the news went out that E. Mason Jamieson had been killed. She wanted him to learn as much as possible about his father’s death, knowing that soon the Agents would be after Earl. They were so clever, so persistent. She wanted him to be ready, not only in ways of avoiding their traps ... but ready with a heart full of hate.
Sometimes when she talked about her husband, Mrs. Jamieson wanted to stand up and scream at her son, “Hate, hate! Hate! You must learn to hate!” But she clenched her hands over her knitting, knowing that he would learn it faster if she avoided the word.
The winter passed, and the next summer, and two more summers.
Earl was ready for college. They had successfully kept their secret. They had been vigilant in every detail. Earl referred to the “damn Agents” now with a curl of his lip. They had been successful in contacting other Konvs, and sometimes visited them at a remote rendezvous.
“When you have finished college,” Mrs. Jamieson told her son, “we will go to Centaurus.”
“Why not now?”
“Because when you get there they will need men who can contribute to the development of the planet. Stinson is a physicist, Benjamin a metallurgist, Straus a doctor. But Straus is an old man by this time. A young doctor will be needed. Study hard, Earl. Learn all you can. Even the great ones get sick.”
She did not mention her secret hope, that before they left Earth he would have fully avenged his father’s death. He was clever and intelligent.
He could kill many Agents.
So she exhumed the money she had hidden more than ten years before. The house beside the Little Wolf river was sold. They found a modest bungalow within walking distance of the University’s medical school. Mrs. Jamieson furnished it carefully but, oddly, rather lavishly.
This was her husband’s money she was spending now. It needed to last only a few years. Then they would leave Earth forever.
A room was built on the east side of the bungalow, with its own private entrance. This was Earl’s room. Ostensibly the private entrance was for convenience due to the irregular hours of college students.
It was also convenient for coming home late at night after Agent hunting.
Mrs. Jamieson was becoming obvious.
Excitement brought color to her cheeks when she thought of Earl facing one of them—a lean, cunning jaguar facing a fat, lazy bear. It was her notion that federal Agents were evil creatures, tools of a decadent, bloodthirsty society, living off the fat of the land.
She painted the room herself, in soft, pastel colors. When it was finished she showed Earl regally into the room, making a big joke of it.
“Here you can study and relax, and have those bull sessions students are always having,” she said.
“There will be no friends,” he answered, “not here. No Konvs will be at the university.”
“Why not? Stinson selected only educated, intelligent people. When one dies the cylinder is taken and adjusted to a new thought pattern—usually a person from the same family. I would say it is very likely that Konvs will be found here.”
He shook his head. “No. They knew we were coming, and no one said a word about others being here. I’m afraid we are alone.”
“Well, I think not,” she said firmly. “Anyway, the room will be comfortable.”
He shook his head again. “Why can’t I be in the house with you? There are two bedrooms.”
She said quickly, “You can if you wish. I just thought you’d like being alone, at your age. Most boys do.”
“I’m not like most boys, mother. The Konvs saw to that. Sometimes I’m sorry. Back in high school I used to wish I was like the others. Do you remember Lorane Peters?” His mother nodded. “Well, when we were seniors last year she liked me quite a lot. She didn’t
