The Worthing Saga by Orson Scott Card Page B

could know.
    Worst for Jase was this: that Radamand was stronger than he was, that the mere memory of Radamand's will was stronger than Jase's present self. Radamand's memories inhabited Jason's mind as if they were his own. Jase tasted Radamand's delight in making others obey him, and it was as sweet to him as it was to Radamand.
    As sweet to him, and yet there was Jase's own self, revolted at what he had done, at the murders he remembered committing, the lives he remembered having destroyed, and he could not bear to have such memories inside his head. How could I have done it! cried Jase silently. How can I undo what I have done!
    He cried out. The receptionist was startled. He was a child, but a dangerous one, and all the more dangerous because of his seeming madness, to suddenly seem to be in pain like this. She got up slowly, walked to the door that led to Radamand.
    Jase finally reached the bottom, the worst acts, the only murders Radamand had committed with his own hands. For Radamand knew that a man who profited from knowing other's secrets could not afford to have a dangerous secret of his own—not one, at least, that anyone else might know. And who would know that Radamand was a “Swipe”? Why, his own dear kin. As the first murder occurred to him, all the others had to follow. He killed his older brother on impulse, in the family's swimming pool; but from his father and younger brothers he could not possibly hide his guilt. They could see his memory of the act as well as he could. So he ranged through his house, killing every male that was kin of his, and using Gracie he located as many as he could find, all who had the pure blue eyes of the Worthing gift, and killed them. Evading arrest was easy—he had information to sell to powerful men about other powerful men, and made himself too valuable to lose; and for those not interested in buying or selling, he held their reputations hostage, and they dared not harm him. Only two of his kin with the gift were still alive. Talbot, who was on a far-off colony, and Homer, the starpilot who had made it impossible to be known as a Swipe and live. Homer, who had died in a holocaust of his own making. Radamand was safe. His hands were foul with his brothers', with his father's blood, but he was safe.
    It did not occur to him that some thirteen years ago or so Homer's widow would choose to inseminate herself and bear Homer's son. Radamand was not expecting Jason. But when he knew that Jason lived—and worse, that Jason knew...
    “Cousin,” whispered Radamand from the door.
    Jase saw the death in Radamand's mind and threw himself to the floor before the pellet was fired.
    Radamand did not move to try again, not at once. Radamand was looking now into Jason's memories. Jase watched his own memories unfolding in Radamand's mind, saw that Radamand searched for only one thing: who knew that Jason was a Swipe. And in spite of himself Jase thought of his mother. And as he thought of her, he saw his memory of her knowledge pass through Radamand's thoughts, but not neutrally, no—it was overlaid with the decision to kill her also. Mother and son, they would die, because if once it was discovered that another sort of Swipe could be passed from father to son, it would be only a matter of time before Radamand was found.
    The world would end if Radamand died—it would end, at least, for Radamand, and he cared for nothing else.
    It was too much for Jason, to have to hold within himself memories of his mother with intent to kill her. He screamed and threw himself at Radamand, who dodged easily and laughed at him.
    “Come, child. Try to surprise me.”
    How can I think of something that he doesn't know I've thought of? His only hope was not surprise at all; with an enemy who was more skilled than he in seeing behind the eyes, it was not quickness that would count. It was chess, and what stopped the checkmate would be check: force him to move another piece.
    “You have no pieces,”