"Well, he's dead, and we can't break up the organ banks yet. But we're trying to change the laws so less people go into the organ banks and then only the ones that deserve it most. If you were any kind of man, you'd be wild to help us. I say it's all you can do for that dead man."
"For sweet charity."
Mrs. Hancock's mouth closed like a trap.
"I'm going to join you," said Matt. "But not for sweet charity. And now I'll give you my reasons."
"Go on," said Harry Kane. He was the only one who didn't show surprise.
"I can't go back to my mining worms. That's absolute. But I'm no hired killer, and that's for sure too. I've never committed murder. I haven't wanted to, not often. If I ever kill a man, I'll want to know just why I'm doing it.
"There's only one way I can be sure I will.
"From now on, the five of us are going to be the leaders of the Sons of Earth." That he saw, jolted even Harry Kane. "I'll want a hand in all decisions. I'll want all the information available to any of you. What do you say, Harry?"
"Keep talking."
Matt's mouth was dry. Harry Kane didn't like this, and Harry Kane was a bad enemy. "The Sons of Earth can't commit murder without my consent, and I won't give it unless I decide murder is necessary. To make that decision, I'd have to know everything, always. One more thing. If I ever decide one of you is trying to cheat me, I'll kill you because cheating me of information will be murder."
"What makes you think you can handle that much power, Keller?" Harry's voice was dispassionate, me interested.
"I have to try," Matt pointed out. "It's my power."
"Fair enough." Harry stood up. "One of us will be here tomorrow, with copies of Parlette's New Law, in full. If we decide to make changes later, we'll let you know."
"Let me know before you make the changes." Kane hesitated, then nodded. They went.
Millard Parlette sighed and turned off the receiver. Invisible assassin? An odd phrase to come from a practical man like Harry Kane. What could he have meant?
Kane would tell him eventually, of course.
Even then it wouldn't matter. Kane could be trusted now, and that did matter. Now Kane had a hold on Millard Parlette. Be it real or imaginary, he would use that hold before he started a civil war.
And Millard Parlette could concentrate on the man waiting outside. Implementation had selected one of their number to present a set of grievances. The man must be getting angrier and angrier as he waited for the Head's attention.
Parlette used the intercom. "Send him in, Miss Lauessen."
"Good."
"Wait. What's his name again?"
"Halley Fox. Corporal."
"Thank you. Would you please send to Gamma and Delta and Iota plateaus for records on Matthew Keller."
"Done, mine ancestor."
Mist Demons! How had Castro put up with the woman? Parlette smiled. Why not? Let him take care of Implementation and the Council, and Harry Kane would take care of the rest. An invisible assassin had just lifted half the load from his back.
"It'll be one strange balance of power," said Harry Kane. "Parlette's got every weapon on the planet except for what we've built in our basements. He's got all the electrical and medical facilities, and most of the wealth. And what have we got? Matt Keller."
"And lucky to get him," said Laney. A red-haired girl in an iridescent dress passed them, walking quickly down the corridor. A crew girl, probably visiting a relative. They stopped talking until she had passed. Harry Kane grinned after her, grinned at her startled expression and at the way she'd quickened her step to leave them behind. They'd all have to get used to this someday-to the sight of colonists in the hallowed corridors of the Hospital.
Jay Hood said, "Well, we've got him. Or has he got us?" He slapped the wall, making gunshot echoes. "Can you imagine what the historians will say? They may never figure it out."
Matt lay on his back and contemplated the ceiling.
He'd made the right decision. He was sure of it. If he had a power, then someone had to have a use for it.
He himself had none.
A detrimental mutation is one that prevents the organism from surviving long enough to breed. Matt's only hope of becoming a father lay in suppressing the "luck" entirely, at least in his private life. An invisible man goes nowhere in a civilized society.
Someone entered. Matt's eyes jerked hard over, caught by the iridescent blue of her dress.
"I beg your pardon," she said, and turned to leave. She was tall and slender, and young, with dark red hair curved into impossible contours. Her dress was of a type never seen on Delta Plateau, loose and clinging, and it glowed. A face lovely in its strangeness, with flared nostrils and pronounced cheekbones, marked her as pure crew.
"Just a minute," Matt called.
She turned in surprise, not at what he'd said, but at his colonist accent. Then her back straightened and her chin lifted and her mouth became a hard, angry line. Matt flushed.
And before her eyes could coldly leave him, he thought, Look at me.
Her eyes didn't turn. Her chin came down and her face went soft and dreamy.
Keep your eyes on mine, he thought at her. I fascinate you, right? Right. Keep looking.
She took a slow step toward him.
Matt dropped the control. She took another step forward, and then she looked horrified. She turned and ran from the room, followed by Matt's pealing laughter.
Detrimental mutation?
Maybe not.
The Outsider ship was a Christmas decoration, a hall of tinsel ribbons looping over and under and around one another, never touching. It was the diameter of New York with about the same population, in beings like black cat-o'-nine-tails with thickened handles.
Miles ahead at the end of its tethering cables, the fusion drive spread dim light over the ship. The basking-ramps cast vacuum-sharp shadows across each other, and in the borderlands between light and shade lay the crew. They lay with their heads in sunlight and their branched tails in shadow, soaking up energy through thermoelectric currents. Fusion radiation sleeted through their bodies, unnoticed. It was a peaceful, lazy time.
Between stars there was little to do.
Until actinic blue flame flashed across their course, throwing high-energy particles and electromagnetic fields about with carefree abandon.
In moments the object was out of sight, even to an Outsider's sensitive eye. But not to the ship's instruments. In an hour the Outsiders had it nailed: position, velocity, mass, design, thrust. It was metal, mechanical, pushed by fusion, and fueled by interstellar hydrogen. Not a primitive device, but...
Built by potential customers.
In every, arm of the galaxy were Outsiders, using everything from photon sails to reactionless, inertialess drives to push their ships; but always they traveled through Einsteinian space. Hyperdrive was --vulgar. The Outsiders never used hyperdrive.
Other species were different. They preferred not to dawdle in space, enjoying the trip, sightseeing, taking their time. Usually they preferred the speedy convenience of the hyperdrive Blind Spot. Hundreds of times over, alien races had bought the secret of the hyperdrive from passing Outsiders.
The trade ship, swung easily toward Procyon and the human colony on We Made It, following Interstellar Ramscoop Robot #144. No chance of catching up, not at the customary .01 gee. No hurry. Plenty of time...
In two sparks of fusion light, an industrial revolution moved on We Made It.