Mute by Piers Anthony Page B

mundane.
    Any woman with a bust like that is interesting.
    It is like that because she is pregnant.
    That deflated him. The weasel was right: the woman was suddenly less interesting. Still, the situation intrigued him. He was seeing precognition in operation, and wanted to know to what extent it was valid. Maybe Mit’s precog about him joining CC could be foiled, simply by a change in plan.
    Knot waited as the other passengers were checked. Sure enough, when the green woman passed the holo-Captain, he challenged her. “I regret to inform you, that our clairvoyant indicates you are the focus of our problem.”
    “Me!” she exclaimed, shocked. “I’m just going to join my husband in System Fitzgerald. I take this ship to CCC, then transfer. “
    “You are fated not to arrive,” the Captain said with polite grimness. “I know you would not want anything untoward to happen. It’s probably a perturbation, an anomaly that will clear in a few hours. Will you take the next ship?”
    “No! This is the only ship that makes the connection to Fitzgerald this week. I can’t wait.”
    “Then will you submit to telepathic probe?”
    “Yes! I have nothing to hide. Your precog is wrong, that’s all there is to it. I have no intention of doing anything rash. Far, far from it!”
    “The queen protests too much, methinks,” Finesse murmured.
    “Excellent,” the Captain said. “If you will kindly step forward to the crew compartment—”
    “Oh, no! I’m not getting mixed up with the crew. I know why the law keeps you from mingling with the passengers! You horny spacemen get a girl in your cubby, you really go to work! I’m going to join my husband!”
    “Madame, you misunderstand.” The Captain’s patience was becoming strained. “I am married myself, as are most—”
    “You married stags are the worst of all!” she flared. “You think that protects you from suspicion!”
    “Oh, I love this gal,” the man who had been behind Knot said. “‘Course, she’s probably right.”
    The Captain did not seem to be enjoying himself, though. “We want only to protect your privacy in what may be a delicate matter—”
    “I’ll bet! I’ve met that kind of delicacy before! You men are all alike! You don’t get me in that crew-shack! Bring your telepath out here, where everybody can see him.”
    “Our telepath is not—”
    “That’s what I thought. You men trumped this whole thing up, just to get a girl in that room. Bring him out here, or admit your game!”
    Now other passengers were murmuring assent. The woman had struck a nerve of suspicion that a number of people shared, including Knot. Who knew what tricks a bored crew might perform, to gain access to attractive passengers they knew they would encounter only once? How could anyone challenge the information of precog or clairvoyant, or deal with a telepath who could read a person’s real nature and intent?
    Beneath that was a more fundamental suspicion: a general distrust of and aversion to the Coordination Computer itself. Did CC really have to have these psis checking out passengers, or was it gathering data for the aggrandizement of its own power? A machine ruled the galaxy; everybody knew that, though all officials denied it. But if it was awkward to challenge the insight of an individual psi-mute, how much more awkward was it to challenge the phenomenal organizational computer itself? So the undercurrent of hostility showed only obliquely. As Knot suspected was the case here.
    “Very well,” the Captain said, with an enigmatic smile.
    Now comes the good part, Hermine thought. With all your complex thoughts, you have missed the obvious. Mit’s laughing.
    A middle-aged woman entered the passenger compartment. She wore a transparent face mask to protect her from possible contamination by passenger ailments, and translucent skintight gloves. “I am the telepath,” she announced.
    “A female peep!” the man behind Knot exclaimed. “It’s