The Mutant Prime (7 page)

“On deadline?” he asked.

She smiled. “Only my own.”

He settled easily into the red float chair by her work station. His dark eyes watching her closely.

“What’s up? You’ve been haunting the screen like one of Camphill’s ghoulies on the late shift.”

“The roving eye never rests.” She smiled. “Deep background on a story.”

“Tell me about it?”

She hesitated. Ralph was her favorite person at Cable News. But she didn’t want to give the scoop away. No, she wouldn’t even tell him.

“Not yet.” She watched his face fall in disappointment. “But soon. I promise. Why don’t you tell me about the moon?”

“Swarming with security folk and media vultures. Like Metro L.A. without air.”

“Or pollution.”

“I knew there was some reason I liked it.” He reached into his pocket. “Here.”

A plaspak of dark sand shot through with odd sparkles landed with a thud on her keyboard.

“What is this?”

“Moondust. I never forget a promise.”

“You’re sweet.” Melanie was tempted to give him a hug, but that would only cause trouble. She knew that Ralph liked her. More than liked her. And she’d seen what happened with office affairs; at worst, they were a temporary distraction from the job. At best, they led to serial marriage, lasting just long enough to deflect both participants from the inside track. Well, no thank you. Melanie wasn’t interested in marriage, children, or even a weekend fling. What she wanted was to find Narlydda and show Randall Camphill that she was ready for the main news desk. If she could just get his attention with a big story—after all, she was as pretty as Nesse. Prettier, really.

“How about a break? Want to get something to eat? A new Malagasy place opened near La Brea.”

She ignored the eager entreaty in Ralph’s voice. “No thanks. You go.” Please, she thought. Don’t make me hurt you.

“Can I bring you anything back?”

“Uh, yes, a sandwich. A choba and sardine sandwich. That would be great.” She gave him a big smile and he went away cheerfully. Sweet Ralph, she thought. The last thing you need is a nice mutant girlfriend to break your heart.

The screen blinked in front of her. Maybe she’d try art supply jobbers. And after that, fine art foundries.

“Ryton?”

The voice on her intercom was Randall Camphill’s.

“Right here, boss.”

“Drop what you’re doing. I want you to get over to Armstrong Airbase and help cover the investigation of the Moonstation disaster.”

“You do?” Melanie nearly dropped her remote scan control.

Camphill chuckled. “Yes, I do. You’ve been hot to get in on this disaster since the beginning. Well, here’s your chance.”

“Yessir.” She grabbed up her screencase and headed for the door.

Ninety minutes later, when Ralph Ferron returned to the office with her sandwich, she was at the shuttleport, boarding a flight to the Mojave.

The cabins were nestled into a small hollow by the lake, gray, weathered redwood soft against the bright green foliage: sword ferns and pine trees, azaleas and bay laurels. Sue Li sniffed the air with pleasure. Dream Haven almost looked like a rustic resort. Until you noticed the blue-robed figures shuffling along pebbled paths, accompanied by gray-coated attendants. Or saw the groups gathered on benches under the trees, never speaking.

Sue Li had brought James here ten years ago. Oh, she knew she should have brought him sooner—he’d been unable to function for some time before she steeled herself to the inevitable. But she’d kept him at home, hoping that love and familiar surroundings could fight the relentless mental flares, that if she only held on long enough, the mutant scientists would discover a cure.

After James’s second suicide attempt, her two sons had convinced her that she had done all she could. So she packed up her husband like a precious artifact and brought him across the country to be kept in a lovely redwood cabin in the green hills of Mendocino. Nearby, the cold blue Pacific Ocean relentlessly pounded the boulder-strewn shoreline. Here, at Dream Haven, the inmates led their half-lives in the twilight of drug therapy as their loved ones waited for the relentless pounding of their hearts to cease, to release them all from kindly bondage.

Beside her, Michael stood stiffly, remote in his gray suit, frowning slightly. This was probably harder for him than for her. And she wasn’t finding it easy.

She adjusted her red cape and moved toward the matron at the first cabin.

Who?
came the mental query.

James Ryton
, Sue Li replied.

The woman nodded and withdrew into the building. Moments later, she led a stooped, shambling, gray-haired creature out to meet them.

Sue Li had last seen her husband six months ago. He had not looked good then, but these new changes were severe. His face was furrowed by lines. His skin had gone putty-colored. He neither looked at them nor away from them. Michael’s eyes widened in shock.

I should have prepared him for this, somehow, she thought grimly.

“James? Can you hear me?”

A slow nod, his eyes unfocused, wandering.

She knew that the narcophalion depressed the speech center, but it was the best drug they had to combat the mental flares. And it usually stopped the awful screaming of the advanced cases.

“Do you know who I am?”

The same nod. But this time the eyes came upon her, moved to the left, returned. Stayed.

“Here, see, Michael’s come with me.”

The golden eyes never moved from her face.

Michael moved forward. “Hi, Dad. It’s good to see you. Let’s take a walk, and I’ll give you an update on the business.”

The older man’s lips curved upward in what could have been a smile. The ghost of a smile. Sue Li thought her heart would break at the sight. She took a deep breath, cast a glance at her son, and moved forward to take her husband’s arm.

“I still think you’re asking for trouble, mating ceramic, metal and polymer,” Yosh said. “The sculpture is going to be in a pressurized location on Earth and on Moonstation, but what about the trip up? I can’t vouch for the acoustics if the thing cracks.”

Narlydda looked up from a screenful of forging schematics, impatience scrawled across her face. “I’ll let Emory Foundation worry about getting it there in one piece,” she said sharply. “Your job is to make sure it sounds the way I want it to. Like a space harp.”

“
If
it doesn’t crack, it will sound fine,” Yosh retorted. His face was flushed. “Those solar-activated chips will keep my divertissement recycling in random combinations—as you requested—through each moon day. To vary the harmonic texture, I’ve inserted three diminished themes in minor keys which repeat at unequal intervals.” He turned his back on her. Gods, she could be irritating. And every bit as difficult to deal with as Tavia. He was glad this job was nearly over.

Behind him, he heard Narlydda sigh.

“Hey, don’t get so upset,” she said. “I know I’m prickly, but if we’re both busy being temperamental, nothing will get done.” Humor danced in her golden eyes. “Besides, it’s my house. So I get to be the prima prima donna.”

“You said it.” Yosh’s anger receded. He could never stay angry long anyway. He smiled quickly at the mutant artist—he’d almost grown accustomed to her unusual coloring—and sat down next to her at the desk.

“Do you think Mrs. Emory will like it?”

“Tavia will
love
it,” Yosh said, mentally crossing his fingers.

Narlydda rolled up the sleeves of her lavender silk shirt. She always fussed with her clothing when she was pleased.

“Will she really?”

“Of course.”

The artist turned suddenly and gave him a long, cool, penetrating look. “What is it between you two, if I may ask?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re blushing. And you know perfectly well just what I mean.”

Yosh felt embarrassed and irritated. “I’m the musical consultant for Emory Foundation.”

“Is that like being the court musician?”

“Come off it, Narlydda. If I’m court musician, that would make you the court artist, wouldn’t it? Or would you prefer to be jester?”

Her smile froze. He’d scored a point.

“No, thanks,” she said. “Sorry.” Her voice was thin.

He stood up, anything to reduce the tension.

“Come on, let’s break for lunch.”

The screen rang. Narlydda jumped. She’d reacted this way for the past three days, each time the phone rang.

“Expecting a call?”

“Yes.”

They both listened in silence while Anne Verland took the call. It was another taped fanfare from Tavia Emory entreating Narlydda to come for a visit.

“That’s the third invitation she’s sent,” Yosh said. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? What’s so terrible about a visit to Phoenix in the winter?”

“Nothing. But I know how tiresome these receptions can be. And I’d have to go in skin dye, wear a mask—I’m not exactly this free and easy with other people, Yosh. That’s part of my mystique—who is Narlydda? What does she look like?” Halfheartedly she struck a flamboyant pose. Then, deflated, she sank down onto a wallseat. “Besides, I’d just hate to be out of town until I hear from … somebody.”

“Oh.” Yosh shifted from foot to foot, uncertain. He didn’t want to pry into her affairs. In fact, he was edgy, restless, anxious to be gone from the fog and chill of the Mendocino coast, and Narlydda’s uncertain moods. “Well, I’ve got to get packed. My shuttle leaves at four.”

When he walked out of the room, he looked back for a moment. Narlydda, oblivious to him, was tracing the outline of her merman sculpture. Tears were slipping down the celadon curves of her cheeks.

Michael had seen his father just over a year ago, and remembered the visit as less than pleasant. By comparison to this, it had been a picnic. James Ryton just didn’t seem to be the same man. Barely human. More like an animated corpse. By the time the visit was over, Michael was white-faced, tight-lipped with anguish. With relief and pity, he watched his father be led away by an attendant.

“That wasn’t fun, was it?” his mother said.

He glared at her. “It’s like he’s walking dead,” Michael snapped. “Is that what’s waiting for me?”

“You know there’s no way of telling. …”

“No, our blessed geneticists can’t quite figure that one out, can they? So this hangs over our heads.” Furious now, he levitated a large rock out of his way as he strode along the wooded path. It fell heavily, splitting the blackened trunk of a lightning-struck tree in two.

Sue Li hurried after him. “Michael, wait.”

“He’d be better off dead!” Michael said, kicking branches out of his way on the path. “We all would be.”

“Don’t say things you’ll be sorry for later.”

He stopped abruptly and sank down on a weathered wooden bench, his face wet with tears.

His mother patted him on the shoulder. “I didn’t think he’d look so bad. Next time, I’ll come alone.”

“No, that’s okay.” Michael took a deep breath. “With Jimmy in Argentina, I guess I’ve got to show the old family spirit.” He wiped his eyes.

For a time, they sat together in silence. Not for the first time, Michael envied his mother’s serenity and acceptance of what was. She could sit quietly in the forest and stare at the silver-leaved gooseberry bushes in the soft gray fog as though nothing had happened. As though she had not spent an hour with the wreckage of a human being: her husband. How does she do it?

Beside him, Sue Li stirred, shivered in the mist, and resealed her red cloak.

“Have you heard from Melanie recently?” she asked.

“Not for at least six months, and then it was just a note on e-mail concerning her dividends from Ryton, Greene and Davis. She’s very busy with her job at Cable News.” He shrugged. “Aside from her share in the company, I guess she’s just not interested in family matters.”

Sue Li’s lips jerked downward. “I really mishandled that one,” she said sadly. “Poor Melanie. I should have been more sympathetic. After all, it’s hard to be a null. Why wasn’t I kinder to her? Oh, if only we could go back.” Sue Li shook her head, as if throwing off a demon, and her placid mask was back in place. Almost.

“Would you really redo your life if given a chance?” Michael asked. “How do you know it would come out any differently? Maybe Melanie’s better off pretending she’s a nonmutant.”

“Maybe that’s what she was meant to be,” Sue Li said. “But I have so many regrets. I’m sorry now that I didn’t encourage you more.”

Michael stared at his mother, shocked by the admission. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, that time when you wanted to marry Kelly McLeod and ran off.” Sue Li closed her eyes with sorrow. “I came after you.”

“That’s what you had to do.”

Her eyes flew open. “Was it? So that you could endure a loveless marriage that had the Mutant Council’s stamp of approval? Oh, you can’t fool me about the way things are between you and Jena, Michael. I was stupid. And a coward. Better you should have run, and found happiness with Kelly McLeod. She was such a nice girl. Jena would have had the child, no matter what. The genetic material would have been preserved, passed along. And the clan would have provided for Jena. These days, it scarcely matters if the mother is married.”