The Mutant Prime (10 page)

Melanie scanned the empty spaces around the Spaceport. Tawny as a lion’s back, a flat, dry landscape with muscular, rolling hills in the distance. The dry lakebed on which Armstrong was built was a perfect site for runways and launchsites. Even the buildings were sleek, low to the ground and sand-colored. Everything looked new, rebuilt in ’15 after the Houston/Gulf spill made California the center of shuttle operations in North America.

She hurried into the auditorium where the Moonstation investigation was being held. Her credentials got her a front row seat in the press section. She staked out her territory with the crylight nametag she’d been given, then went looking for a cup of coffee. The hallway ped strip was moving at a good clip when she saw a vending mech rolling past, lights blinking, in the opposite direction. She jumped off the grid and hurried after it, nearly bumping into a dark-haired young woman wearing a purple Shuttle Corps jumpsuit.

“Sorry.”

The woman grabbed her arm and stared hard. “Melanie? Melanie Ryton?”

It was Kelly McLeod.

“My God,” Melanie said. “Kelly. Is it you?” They hugged briefly, almost out of instinct. Then, suddenly self-conscious, they pulled back, awkward strangers despite their teenage friendship.

“You look so official in that outfit.”

Kelly chuckled. “That’s the idea. And you don’t even look like a mutant with those blue eyes—what are they, contact lenses?”

“Yeah.”

“So that
was
you, all those years ago, in Colorado?”

Melanie flushed with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. I guess I wasn’t ready to admit who I was to anybody then.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kelly laughed easily. “It’s nice to see you again, with or without golden eyes. Are you here because of Michael?”

“Michael?” Melanie gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Your brother. He’s been summoned as part of the Moonstation investigation. Didn’t you know?”

“No. I’m here covering the investigation for Cable News.”

“Oh.”

They stood in silence for a moment as the information sank in.

“He’s in trouble?”

“Looks that way. Haven’t you been in touch with him? I would have thought he’d tell you about it.”

“Uh, not for a while.” Omigod. What do I do now? Melanie began to sweat under her red silk tunic. “Is he all right? Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“Is his family here with him?”

Kelly looked down. “I don’t think so.”

“Figures. That Jena always was a bitch. She’s the last person I’d expect to be helpful. Has he seen you?”

Now it was Kelly’s turn to flush. “Uh, no. I—I guess I don’t really want to talk to him. Past is past.”

“I guess.” Well, that was her business. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t think he’s shown up yet. They’re still doing preliminary questioning. He’s probably back at the guest quarters.

“I’ve got to see him.” And she meant it. Suddenly, Melanie wanted to see her brother very badly. To stand with him. Especially if he was here all alone. “Do you want me to tell him you’re here?”

“No. Please.” Kelly’s tone was urgent. “Melanie, please don’t say anything. Remember how badly you wanted to leave your past behind? I understand how you felt. Can’t you understand that there are parts of my life that I never want to think about again? And your brother is one of those parts.”

Well, that was direct. “All right. I guess you have your reasons. I won’t mention you. But I’d better run if I want to catch him before this session starts, and I have to be back in the press gallery. Can we meet later? I want to hear all about the rescue.”

“And I want to talk to you about this strange supermutant guy.”

“Ashman?” Melanie rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s a fake.”

“Well, whatever he is. Let’s talk soon. You can reach me at the Shuttle Corps dorm. I’m in room 19A.”

Melanie was already halfway down the hall. “Good. I’ll catch you later, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she waved at the purple-clad figure and raced for a payscreen.

In a different segment of North American desert, Tavia Emory was not having a good day. She bustled along the carpeted corridor of Emory Headquarters, ignoring the desert view through the filtered windows, wishing she were anywhere else—in her private quarters, floating in her lap pool. But no time for that now. She’d already had Security eject three free-lance video jocks who’d somehow found their way into the guest wing. Then Ashman had refused to meet the delegation of government officials from the Pentagon, claiming fatigue. Dr. Sarnoff was with him now. Maybe that would help. Meanwhile, a group of mutants was camped on her doorstep, demanding to see the supermutant. In all the fuss and chaos, she’d even forgotten to put in her gold contact lenses. Gray-eyed, she gazed upon her mutant visitors, envying them the obvious marks of their mutancy. The only bright spot in all of this was that Narlydda had finally accepted her invitation. So much for Yosh. He’d told her to forget about Narlydda. Well, she’d remind him of that later.

Tavia entered the reception hall. The Mutant Union delegates were gathered by the window. A short, gray-haired woman in forest green—what was her name? Rebekah?—approached once again.

“Mrs. Emory, surely you can appreciate our position,” she said.

Tavia gestured impatiently. “Of course, of course. You know I’m sympathetic to you. But as my aides have told you repeatedly, Mr. Ashman is not seeing anybody today. He simply has too full a schedule.”

“We’ll wait.”

Stubborn woman. Well, why not? Mutants had to be stubborn to get anywhere. And she’d rather have Ashman talk to them than to a bunch of generals with ribbons on their shoulders anyway. He wasn’t meant to help the military. He would be an agent of peace.

The office door irised open. Ashman stood, white robes glowing, a figure out of a dream or an illustration.

“What are you doing here?” Tavia cried. “You know you should be resting.”

Ashman stared at her coldly and turned away toward the group of mutants clustered by the wallseat.

“My friends and cousins, welcome.” There was a forced vibrancy to his voice. He moved quickly—too quickly, as though he didn’t quite trust his legs—across the dark red carpeting toward the windows. Sat down on the bronzed wallseat and beckoned the others to join him. They gathered around him in a loose semicircle.

“Mr. Ashman, we represent—”

“I know who you are, Rebekah. I’m so pleased you’ve come.”

Her face paled at his words, but her expression remained firm. “Yes, well, we wanted to ask you—”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled reassuringly. His small teeth were even and neat. “We will work together. I would like to address a meeting of the Mutant Union at the earliest possible opportunity. And the mutant councils as well.”

Rebekah glanced at several of the mutants around her.

“Oh, I know you have many questions,” Ashman said pleasantly. “I can see them bubbling away in your minds. Please, ask me anything. I want to set you at ease.”

“Well, I would have preferred to discuss this in private,” Rebekah said.

Tavia squeezed her way through the group and sat down next to Ashman. “Now Victor, isn’t it a little too soon to talk about meeting with groups?”

“Nonsense. I feel fine.” He patted her hand affectionately. “Tavia is such a mother hen,” he said, chuckling. “But feel free to speak in front of her. She is absolutely trustworthy.”

Tavia didn’t like the tone in his voice. What was happening to him? A moment ago, he’d seemed on the verge of fainting. Now, his voice was strong, vibrant. He glowed with charisma. The mutants seemed stunned to silence. Then the woman named Rebekah spoke.

“Well, yes, we do have many questions,” she said. “To begin with, to what clan do you belong?”

“Every clan. And none.”

“Is that a riddle?”

“It’s an answer.” Ashman smiled beatifically.

“Why didn’t you come to us first?”

He levitated a hammered copper bowl of fruit across the room, selected a yellow apple, then passed it in front of the group. “Please have something. Oh, go ahead.” As the bowl floated before them, the apple began to peel itself, the skin twirling off in golden curls, disappearing in midair. When no one made a move, Ashman sighed and set the bowl back down on the table before him.

“It didn’t seem appropriate to contact you. Or necessary. I knew that you would come to me.”

“I see.” Rebekah exchanged a meaningful glance with a tall, dark-haired man next to her. “As I was saying, about meeting,” she continued. “We would like to invite you to a special council meeting in two weeks.”

“I’d be delighted,” he said. “I hope to preside at future meetings, of course, but I suppose preliminary arrangements are in order.”

“Preside?” Her face paled.

“Oh, let’s not talk about that now.” Ashman waved his hand in dismissal. “We’ll have time to discuss all this later, I’m sure,” Ashman said. “I have no doubt we’ll all be able to work together as a family.” He nodded. The group around him seemed fascinated, Tavia thought. Almost hypnotized. Then, like a door closing, the spell seemed to end. Ashman’s skin turned a pearly gray. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He seemed to sag in his chair, energy ebbing.

Tavia took control. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she said. “He needs to rest now. Please come back sometime next week.” She smoothly ushered them toward the door, through it, down the hall, and into the waiting arms of her public relations staff. They would see the Mutant Council out. Tavia turned and hurried back to the reception hall. She found Ashman pacing back and forth.

“Victor, are you all right?”

“Fine.” He looked furious. “You had no right to make them leave, Tavia. I wasn’t finished with them yet.”

His words sent a chill through her. “But I thought we agreed …”

“I’ve decided to take a more aggressive approach,” he said. “Beginning with making decisions about what’s best for me.” He locked his gaze with hers.

For a moment, she struggled. How dare he? After all she’d done for him. Taken him in and … but his silvery eyes were lustrous, compelling. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. Silver, rimmed by violet. Beautiful. Peaceful. Well, he probably knows best.

“I was told you needed me,” a deep voice, strongly accented, announced.

Dr. Sarnoff stood in the doorway, his full, dark mustache adding a doleful touch to his already stern expression. He was a small man, almost swamped by his blue lab coat. “I was busy in your laboratory, Mrs. Emory. …” He paused, observed them with glittering golden eyes. “Victor, you are straining too much.” He turned to Tavia. “And you are pushing too hard. Leave him alone.”

“I only want what’s best for him.”

“Then don’t argue with him,” Sarnoff snapped. “Or me.” He gestured for Victor to accompany him, and the two men left Tavia sitting by herself on the wallseat.

The wallscreen buzzed. “Mrs. Emory? Narlydda is here.”

Thank goodness, Tavia thought. At least she had time to put in her contact lenses. She stood up, straightened her turquoise silk robes, and hurried toward her office. “Wait five minutes. Then show her in.”

* * *

Narlydda entered the sumptuous office, marveling at the luxurious materials in evidence: solid burled-teak desk, actual leather on the bronzed wallseats and cushions. The walls appeared to be covered in thin yellow silk. And the floor was a marvelous abstract mosaic of ceramic metallics, glinting in tones of rich treasure.

She adjusted her silver sunburst demimask. The lower portion of her face was bisected by skin dye patterns in white and red, which gradually coalesced to form an elaborate butterfly that framed her red-stained lips. Her hair was hidden under a red and black Noh wig. She’d encased her long, lanky body in black leggings and a woven robe of red velvet and mirrored chips. When she moved, she reflected silvery light in every direction. Drama was expected from great artists. Narlydda did not intend to disappoint her public.

A large-boned, bulky woman in turquoise silk stood up as she entered. “Narlydda. Such a pleasure to meet you. I’m so delighted you’ve come.”

Narlydda took her hand. Her grip was powerful. In keeping with the rest of her. Tavia Emory had a strong face. Her short, gilded hair did not soften her hawklike features.

Interesting face. I’d like to sketch her.

Her eyes glowed with the gold of mutancy. But surely Tavia Emory was a normal. How peculiar.

“I’m delighted our schedules meshed,” Narlydda said. “You have a marvelous complex here.”

“Thank you. I hope you’ll make yourself at home.”

Narlydda accepted the drink offered. Sipped cautiously. Rose plum nectar with a hint of minty alcohol. “Refreshing.”

“It’s one of my favorites. Please sit.”

Sinuously Narlydda lowered herself onto a pile of green leather cushions. “I’m anxious to hear your reaction to my roughs for the Moonstation memorial.”

A shadow passed over the Emory woman’s face. “Yes, well, of course, we’ll have time for that a little later, won’t we.”