"He must be abnormal. A normal mutant couldn't do that. I'll have to find some way to seal his mind off from yours, I guess. I'll have to interfere with that sort of thing. In the meantime, I'll have to keep a sharp eye on you."
Walt glared at her. "Damn you," he said.
"Why don't the aliens do the fighting for themselves?"
The question was unexpected. "You got it wrong," he said automatically. "They are helping Lyrians out of the goodness of their hearts." It was as if he were speaking to Calvin; it made him feel, momentarily, superior to her. He grasped the opportunity with pathetic gratefulness. "They're afraid!" he cried triumphantly. "We're not that far advanced yet!"
Julia paused to consider this. "Yes, that figures," she said. "But suppose for a minute that you're not a Lyrian. Suppose they're using you to fight for them."
"No," Walt said.
"But why not?"
"No," he repeated. He tried to keep doubt out of his voice. His anger was gone. He felt uncertain and confused. He could not think clearly.
"You're a mutant," Julia said. "Like I am. Our parents were earthlings. The aliens are using mutants. The aliens changed our parents' genes—"
"I don't understand that word."