The Mutant Prime (26 page)

Once more Yosh stepped into Tavia’s chamber. He did not look at the still figure on the couch as he passed it. He tapped his code into the keypad of Tavia’s wallscreen. It sputtered as stray images of yellow and green burst upon the screen for a moment like fireworks. Then it went dark.

“Shit. Well, maybe the deskscreen.” Yosh turned toward the sleek gray screen, hesitated, then typed in Tavia’s password. The screen flared to life as a mechanical voice inquired, “Menu?”

“Emory Fleet log,” Yosh said.

“Getting,” the screen announced.

As Yosh watched, a dizzying array of orange files sped past. And, just as quickly, stopped. The shuttle log revealed minimal activity save for one recent departure.

“Got it,” Yosh said. “A shuttle left at four-thirty A.M. for Fac-2.”

“Nice work.” Skerry peered over his shoulder. “What’s Fac-2?”

“Orbital factory producing polyceramics.”

Skerry stared at the screen for a moment. “Any chance Ashman faked this to throw us off the trail?” he asked.

“Sure. Ashman’s capable of anything.” Yosh punched in a different code.

“Menu?” the screen asked.

“Visual on Emory Fleet status,” Yosh said.

“Working.”

The screen image swirled as the orange letters were replaced by a video image of a shuttle hangar. Two sleek orbital fliers sat snug in their berths, dark save for the blue, blinking eyes of maintenance mechs.

“More,” Yosh said.

The image panned toward a third berth. It was empty.

“Request data on Shuttle 3,” Yosh said.

“Orbiter is en route Fac-2,” replied the screen.

Yosh turned to meet Skerry’s glittering gaze. “That’s all the confirmation we’re going to get,” he said. “My guess is that Ashman is getting sloppy. Or tired.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Skerry said. He gestured at the shuttles onscreen. “Can you fly one of those things?”

“No. But I can program the autopilot. I think.”

“Let’s hope so.” Skerry shot him a sardonic look. “This orbital factory—does it have any personnel in residence? Anybody we can warn?”

“No. It’s totally automated.”

“What about domes—does it have any environmental domes?”

Yosh held his hands out, palms extended. What was Skerry getting at? “I suppose,” he said. “After all, some repairs can’t be done by mechs. But I never paid much attention to this side of the business.”

“Pity. Well, if it’s got type-E domes, then somebody can survive up there. Even if it’s just one mutant lady artist and her supermutant captor. I guess we’d better suit up and go after them. …”

A shrill female scream cut through the room.

Both men turned to see Clara, Tavia Emory’s personal assistant, sag in horror against the doorway. She was staring at the velvet couch.

“I was asleep,” she said. “I was asleep at my desk and I woke up and buzzed Mrs. Emory. Tried to. My screen was dead. Gods, what have you done to her?”

Skerry took her hand. “Easy, cousin. We haven’t done anything. Just found her ourselves.”

“And what’s happened to the door? What’s going on?”

“That’s kind of difficult to explain.”

Tavia’s deskscreen began buzzing. Apparently, people all over the building were waking up.

“Why don’t you get that?” Skerry suggested. The tone in his voice made Yosh suspect that he’d given Clara a compelling mental push. She nodded dully and turned toward the desk.

C’mon, let’s clear out of here before we have a crowd asking more questions.
Skerry’s mindspeech was curt and urgent.

“But …” Yosh allowed himself to be carried along in the mutant’s wake.

They ran down the corridor, bolting into a side passage at the sound of voices, down a flight of stairs and out onto a gray, carpeted hallway.

“Where are we?” Skerry whispered.

“I think we’re near the labs.” Yosh peered down the corridor, looking for a landmark. He had rarely worked on this level.

“Any exits around here?”

“I don’t think so. Security precautions.”

“Shit. Let me send out a probe.” Skerry closed his eyes, frowning. “Hmm. I’m getting another strange feeling. Or rather, a blank where I should be hearing esper echoes.”

“Could be another shielded room.”

“Or a null.”

“Melanie!”

“Keep your pants on, Romeo. I haven’t found her yet. I don’t even know what I’ve found.” Skerry gave him a wink. “But let’s try this way.”

They veered left, then right, until they came to a double sliding door.

“Got your key?”

“Right here.”

The door irised open. Yosh gasped. A slight figure lay sprawled on the white tile floor.

“Sarnoff!” Skerry said.

“You know him?”

“Oh, yeah. Our man in Moscow. A dabbler in the darker scientific arts. Should have figured he’d have his Ukrainian fingers in this mess. From the looks of him, he put his nose in one test tube too many.”

“Dead too?”

Skerry nodded. “Check out the lab,” he said. “I’m still getting that funny nonecho.”

Grateful to get away from the corpse, Yosh hurried out of the main room into a storage area full of screens and autoprobes. A closet at the far end of it was empty, save for lab coats and acrylic slides. But the room beyond that was closed and locked. Heart pounding, he pressed his key to the doorpad. With a swish the doors irised open. A slim figure in yellow with dark hair was lying on a low couch just inside the door. Melanie.

Please be alive, Yosh thought. Please. He sank to his knees beside her, reaching for her wrist and a heartbeat.

“Don’t worry,” Skerry said, coming up behind him. “She’s okay.”

Yosh gathered Melanie into his arms and buried his face in her neck. She, at least, was real in the midst of this bad dream. He felt her pulse throbbing against his cheek. A moment later, she began to stir. He looked up and saw her eyelids flutter, then open. Mutant gold shined up at him. He’d never been so glad to see that color.

“Hi,” Melanie said weakly.

“Hi yourself.” Gently, he tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “What happened?”

“Ashman tried to put me to sleep,” she said. “It didn’t work too well. So he hit me with a hypo.” She yawned. “How long have I been out?”

“About twenty-four hours,” Skerry said.

She looked up. Squinted. “Cousin Skerry?”

He bowed mockingly. “So nice to see you again after all this time. Think you can walk?”

“But—”

“I know, I know. A thousand questions. But we’ll play catch-up later, Mel. Right now, we’ve got to find Ashman. And Narlydda.”

“What?” Melanie sat up. “What’s going on?”

“Ashman killed Tavia Emory,” Yosh said quickly. “And Dr. Sarnoff. Skerry thinks he’s taken Narlydda someplace in Tavia’s shuttle. We’ve got to catch them.”

Melanie stared at them both as though they were crazy. “Killed Tavia Emory? Kidnapped Narlydda on a shuttle?”

“Looks that way,” Skerry said.

“You boys have been watching too many vids,” she said, getting to her feet. She wobbled slightly, then gained her balance but continued to hold on to Yosh’s arm. “And next, the Shuttle Corps will come over the dunes to rescue us, I suppose?”

“Well, toots, that would be nice,” Skerry said, and grinned. “But I doubt it. So let’s us rescue ourselves before it’s too late and somebody here wakes up and calls the cops.” He grabbed them both by the hand. “All tender reunions are hereby postponed until we’re airborne. Come on.”

Narlydda watched Victor Ashman twitch and mutter in uneasy slumber. He was securely webbed to a blue couch in the shuttle cabin, as was she. How long had she been out?

She sat up uneasily and stretched. Her neck was stiff, and her legs ached. The orange pressure suit she wore restricted her movements. When had she put that on? And how did she get here?

Memory seeped back slowly. Wait, she remembered that Ashman had drugged that reporter, Melanie Ryton, right after he had knocked out poor Yosh. Then the call to Rebekah Terling. His brief, angry consultation with that little mustachioed doctor. The taxi to Tavia’s shuttle port. Then nothing.

The clang of metal on metal startled her. The shuttle seemed to be docking. But where? Montevideo? Yugoslavia? She couldn’t tell. There were no windows. Was it day or night? The screen in the front wall of the cabin was dark, but there was something funny about the darkness. It was dappled with white specks.

Was that space? Were those white specks stars?

Narlydda’s heart began pounding. Ashman hadn’t taken her to some secluded Earthside hideaway. He’d kidnapped her into space.

Maybe there’s a chance I can escape while he’s asleep, she thought. At least try to stop him. God knows what he’s got planned. Maybe the best thing to do would be to punch a hole through the shuttle wall and kill us both before he hurts anybody else.

She glanced at the sleeping figure and felt an odd mixture of fear and pity. He was so alone. So powerful.

And I’m no hero, she thought. I love life too much. And despite what he’s done, I feel sorry for Ashman. I know what it’s like to be alienated and lonely. I can’t kill him. Or me.

“Thank you,” Ashman said. He opened his eyes and stared at her bleakly. “I’m so glad you’re here. And that you won’t hurt yourself. Or try to hurt me.”

He unstrapped himself from the webbing and floated up, out of his plush red seat, toward the ceiling of the cabin. His pressure suit billowed out around him like a clown’s costume. Turning toward Narlydda, he grinned with delight.

“So this is what reduced gravity is like,” he said, bobbing gently. “Probably the closest normals ever come to understanding levitation.”

Narlydda silently chanted for composure.

“You’re frightened,” Ashman said. He hovered near her couch, an anxious look on his face. “Oh, don’t be scared of me, Narlydda, please. What can I do to reassure you?”

“Take me back to Earth. Let me go home.”

“But then I’d be alone.”

“You killed Dr. Sarnoff,” she said. “God knows what you’ve done with poor Tavia. Not to mention Yosh and Melanie. Why shouldn’t I be afraid?”

Ashman gave her a twisted smile. “Don’t worry about Tavia. It’s too late for that anyway. And your little friends will be fine.” He stopped smiling. “I see you think you should humor me.”

“Stop reading my mind,” she snapped. “Goddammit! Don’t you know anything about common mutant courtesy?”

“I’m not a common mutant,” Ashman said. His face was a sober mask. “Nobody ever taught me, no Mutant Council shaped me. I’ve always been alone. Always hiding. Poor and starving freak. But no more. No more.” He seemed to be talking to himself, oblivious to her. “Poor Ashman. Hiding with the rats. Keeping to the shadows. And then Tavia dangled her riches and promises before me. So I let her reel me in.” He looked up as though he’d just noticed her sitting there. “Do you know what it’s like to be really hungry and afraid and alone?”

Slowly, Narlydda shook her head.

“Oh Narlydda, don’t be scared.” He grabbed her hands. “I promise to respect your privacy. I will. Besides, I can’t completely read you. You’re partially shielded, you know. Telekinetics sometimes develop that—compensation for a lack of esper power, I guess.”

That’s interesting, she thought. Thanks for the tip. But maybe it’s time for a little distraction. Aloud, she said, “Where are we?”

“Docking at one of the Emory orbital factories, I think. At least, that’s what I programmed this thing for.”

“Programmed! You mean this shuttle is on autopilot?”

“Of course. You don’t think Tavia kept a string of pilots on call, do you?”

“Surely, the Shuttle Corps is tracking us.”

“Oh, as far as they’re concerned, this is a standard supply run out to the factory to pick up product. And if anybody else is trying to track us, they’d have to cut through the radar shield—the late Richard Emory had this thing equipped with stealth capacity.” Ashman giggled again. “Wonder what he was up to.”

The shuttle shuddered once, twice. There was the sound of clanking metal, or wheels turning. The main door to the cabin clicked and slid open, revealing a metal grid walkway that led away through a large docking bay toward a sealed portal.

Ashman waved her through the door. “After you.”

Narlydda stepped down cautiously.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s completely pressurized.”

The walk to the bay door had a curious, dreamlike quality. I’d like to set this to music, Narlydda thought. And do a series of fiber acrylic sculptures. …

“Always the artist,” Ashman said in an approving tone of voice. “I really envy your ability. But don’t worry. Once we’re settled here, you’ll have plenty of time for your work. I promise you that. And whatever you need. All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s very kind.” Narlydda said drily. She wondered if he could read her sarcasm beyond her supposed esper shield. She didn’t really care if he could.