A mutant, in the sense in which the word is here used, is a human being who has undergone a sudden variation, the child differing from the parent, as opposed to the gradual change by which the human race has evolved to its present form. The variation, in this case, has not been noticeably physical; that is, a mutant is indistinguishable, so far as the eye is concerned, from any other human. The variation has been mental, with the mutant possessing certain skills which the normal human does not have — certain "wild talents," the announcement said.
(See adjoining column for full explanation of mutancy.)
The announcement (full text in Column 4) said that the mutants had embarked upon a campaign to destroy the economic system of the world through the manufacture of certain items, such as the everlasting razor blade, the everlasting light bulb, the Forever car, the new prefabricated houses and other items generally sold in the so called "gadget shops."
The mutant group, it was revealed, has been under investigation by various governmental and independent agencies for several years and the findings, when correlated, showed unmistakably that a definite campaign was under way to take over the entire world. The formal announcement of the situation, it was said, was delayed until there could be no doubt concerning the authenticity of the reports.
The announcement called upon the citizenry of the world to join in the fight to circumvent the plot. At the same time it pleaded for a normal continuation of all activity and advised against hysteria.
"There is no occasion for apprehension," the announcement said. "Certain counter-measures are being taken." There was no hint as to what any of these counter-measures might be. When the reporters attempted to question the spokesman concerning them he was told that this was restricted information.
To aid the world governments in their campaign against the intentions of the mutants, the announcement said that every citizen should take these steps:
I — Keep your head. Do not give way to hysteria.
2- Refrain from using any mutant-manufactured items.
3- Refuse to buy any mutant-manufactured items. Persuade others against their use or purchase.
4 — Immediately inform the FBI of any suspicious circumstances which might have a bearing upon the situation.
The announcement said that first suspicions of any attempt
_(Continued on Page 11)_
Vickers did not turn to Page 11. Instead he studied the rest of the front page.
There was the story which explained mutation and the complete text of the announcement. There was a signed article by some professor of biology, discussing the probable effects of mutancy and its probable causes.
There were a half dozen bulletins. He began to read them:
NEW YORK (AP) — Mobs today swept through the city armed with axes and iron bars. They swarmed into gadget shops, destroying the merchandise, smashing the fixtures. Apparently no one was found in any of the shops. One man was killed, but it was not believed he was connected with a gadget shop.
WASHINGTON (UP) — A mob early today attacked and killed a man driving a Forever car. The car was smashed.
LONDON (INS) — The government today threw heavy guards around several housing development projects containing a number of the prefabricated houses attributed to mutant manufacture.
"The people who purchased these houses," said an explanation accompanying the order, "purchased them in good faith. They are in no way connected or to be connected with the conspiracy. The guards were ordered to protect these innocent people and their neighbors against any misdirected public violence."
The fourth:
ST. MALO, FRANCE (Reuters) — The body of a man was found hanging from a lamp post at dawn today. A placard with the crude lettering of «Mutant» was pinned to his shirt front.
Vickers let the paper fall from his hand. It made a ragged tent upon the ground.
He stared out across the park. Morning traffic was flowing by on the roadway a block away. A boy came along a walk, bouncing a ball as he walked. A few pigeons circled down through the trees and strutted on the grass, cooing gently.
Normal, he thought. A normal human morning, with people going to work and kids out playing and the pigeons strutting on the grass.
But underneath it a current of savagery. Behind it all, behind the fa‡ade of civilization, the present was crouching in the cave, lying in ambush against the coming of the future. Lying in wait for himself and Ann and Horton Flanders.
Thank God that no one had thought to connect him with the car. Perhaps, later on, someone would. Perhaps someone would remember seeing him get out of the car. Perhaps someone would fasten suspicion upon the man who, of all of them, had not run out of the restaurant and joined the mob around the car.
But for the moment he was safe. How long he would remain safe was another matter.
Now what?
He considered it.
Steal a car and continue his trip?
He didn't know how to steal a car; he would probably bungle
But there was something else — something else that needed doing right away.
He had to get the top.
He had left it in the car and he'd have to get it back.
But why risk his neck to get the top?
It didn't make much sense. Come to think of it, it made no sense at all. Still, he knew that he had to do it.
Crawford's warning about not driving the car hadn't made sense either at the time he read it. He had disregarded it and had felt uneasy about disregarding it, had known, against all logic, that he was wrong in not paying it attention. And in this particular case, at least, logic had been wrong and his feeling — his hunch, his premonition, his intuition, call it what you would
— had been right.
He had wondered, he remembered, if there might not be a certain sense which would outweigh logic and reason, if within his brain a man might not have another faculty, a divining faculty, which would outdate the old tools of logic and of reason. Maybe that was what it was. Maybe that was one of the wild talents that the mutants had.
Maybe that was the sense that told him, without reason, without logic, that he must get back the top.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE street had been blocked to traffic and the police were standing by, although there was little need of them, it seemed, for the crowd was orderly. The car lay in the middle of the Street, battered and dented, with its wheels sticking into the air, like a dead cow in a cornfield. Its glass was shattered and strewed about the pavement, crunching under the feet of the milling crowd. Its tires were knocked off and the wheels were bent and people stood around and stared at it.
Vickers mingled with the crowd, moving nearer to the car. The front door, he saw, had somehow been smashed open and was wedged against the pavement and there was just a chance, he told himself, the top might still be there.
If it was, he would have to figure out some way to get it. Maybe he could get down on his knees and pretend that he was simply curious about the instrument panel or the controls. He'd tell his neighbors about how the control panel differed from that of an ordinary car and maybe he could hook in a hand and sneak out the top and hide it under his coat without any of them knowing.
He shuffled about the wreck, gaping at it in what he hoped was an idly curious fashion and he talked a little with his neighbors, the usual banal comments of the onlooker.
He worked his way around until he was beside the door and squatted down and looked inside the car and he couldn't see the top. He stayed there, squatting and looking, craning his neck, and he told his nearest neighbor about the control panel and wondered about the shift, but all the time he was looking for the top.
But there wasn't any top.
He got up again and milled with the crowd, watching the pavement, because the top might have fallen from the car and rolled away from it. Maybe it had rolled into the gutter and was lying there. He searched the gutters, on both sides of the streets, and covered the pavement and there was no top.