by Haber, Karen
Michael put his arm around his mother and hugged her tightly. “Don’t blame yourself. None of us know if what we’re doing will be the right thing, the proper path. The community was threatened. It had to be preserved. Now I believe that, too.”
“But at such a price, Michael. Such a high price.”
“I try not to think about it.” He looked at his watch. At the white-trunked eucalyptus trees.
“Will you go to Armstrong Airbase now?” she asked.
“No. Just have to get together with my legal counsel to discuss the file.” He forced a smile. “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”
“No. I think I’ll walk a bit. The storehouse jitney can take me to the station later.”
“I’ll see you before the Mutant Council meeting tomorrow.”
Michael kissed his mother on the cheek, then hurried toward his rented skimmer, grateful to get away. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Behind him, in the gathering fog, his mother was the only spot of color, of life, in all the terrible calm of Dream Haven.
CHAPTER FIVE
.
“All join now in meeting,” the Book Keeper said.
She was a short, gray-haired woman with a generous bosom. Regal in her deep red high-necked tunic, she radiated authority throughout the room. Conversations faltered, halted. Dozens of mutants in glittering silk, ragged jeans, metallic tunics, yellow shrink suits, and green sun robes drifted toward the vast meeting table and took their seats. Their skin tones varied, from deep tan to palest cream, with a few startling shades of celadon and violet thrown in by that old genetic jokester, mutant DNA. Only the eyes were the same, all of them the same. Golden and glowing. In fellowship, the mutants joined hands to begin their year-end meeting.
“Crank her up, Bekah!” called a young mutant with short black hair, gray skin, and a nose ring. His quip was met with chuckles and nods.
“We welcome our cousins from the East Coast,” she said, and smiled at Michael and Sue Li. Around the huge table, a hundred golden eyes gazed upon them with acceptance and affection.
Michael nodded in acknowledgment. But he felt a little uncomfortable. How odd to be with a different council for the meeting. He had hardly gotten used to seeing somebody else officiate at the Eastern Council after Halden died. In fact, Chemen Astori, a slight, chipper half-Filipino, did a fine job of leading the Eastern clan. But this West Coast Council was different: looser, unpredictable, notorious for progressive thinking. Rebekah Terling had been Western Council Book Keeper now for ten years. Michael thought she seemed capable if a bit aloof. But he couldn’t call his West Coast brethren aloof. They sat comfortably, at ease, joking and clowning as the Book Keeper called for order. It was all very informal, friendly, and good-natured. But strange.
The door to the meeting hall slid open, pushed by a blizzard of twinkling lights, glimmering particles flashing blue-green, silver-gold.
“Ho, ho, ho,” said a sardonic male voice from the center of the whirlwind.
The particles coalesced into a tall, muscular, white-bearded figure wearing a flowing red-and-green robe with cuffs lined by white fur. On top of his head was a green candle, flame guttering as he moved.
“I am the ghost of Christmas present,” the apparition intoned. “So be good, for goodness’ sake.”
The group broke into applause and laughter. The “ghost” bowed deeply, scattering wax everywhere, and slowly, the festive robes darkened, shrank to become a black silk kimono sashed in red at the waist, red leggings, and black leather boots. The beard turned brown, streaked by gray. The candle vanished. There were lines at the corners of the mischievous golden eyes. But the grin was familiar as ever.
“Skerry!” Michael cried.
His cousin turned and his smile broadened. “Kiddo! What are you doing here?”
He embraced Michael heartily, pounding him on the back, practically knocking the wind out of him.
“Thank you for joining us, cousin Skerry,” Rebekah said. “I was wondering how you could top last year’s performance.” Her tone was dry, but not without humor. “Very impressive. But please don’t delay us further. A place is ready for you.”
Even as she spoke, a floatseat levitated away from the wall and settled down next to Michael.
We’ll talk afterward.
With a wink to Michael, Skerry nodded and sat down.
“I will read from the Book, the fifth refrain from The Waiting Time,” Rebekah said. “Please join with me.” And in a lilting alto voice she led the clan over the familiar words.
And when we knew ourselves to be different,
To be mutant and therefore other,
We took ourselves away,
Sequestered that portion of us most other,
And so turned a bland face to the blind eyes
Of the world.
Formed our community in silence, in hiding,
Offered love and sharing to one another,
And waited until a better time,
A cycle in which we might share
Beyond our circle.
We are still waiting.
There was silence as Rebekah closed the book.
“We are still waiting,” the clan intoned around her.
She looked up, a ghostly smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Perhaps we will not have to wait much longer,” she said. “Please share that hope with me now.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head.
The familiar linkage caught them all in its gentle embrace. Michael felt the affectionate mindtouch of his mother and the vibrant energy of Skerry beside him. Then self-awareness faded as the groupmind asserted dominance: a loving harmony of shifting chords and thoughts in which all was accepted, forgiven, understood, and healed.
Michael floated freely in the current of the groupmind, at ease, at peace. He scarcely noticed as the internal melody shifted slightly into a minor key, something discordant sounding there for a moment. Then resounding. A wailing, strident echo shattered Michael’s calm. It echoed from head to head in hot orange tones, amplified with each mental bounce. Harmony shredded. Clan members clutched their heads in pain, wrenched from the circle of intimacy. A sharp, insistent thought pounded at them like a drum, tearing asunder the shared moment.
BEWARE THE SUPERMUTANT! BEWARE THE SUPERMUTANT!
“Who is causing this disruption?” Rebekah demanded aloud, above the mental din. “What is the meaning of this?”
Michael stared around the room. Beside him, Skerry jumped to his feet. His mouth was set in a grim line. Squinting, he surveyed the assembled group, slowly narrowing his focus to a tiny, wizened old woman.
“Leita!” he exclaimed. “It’s you. I knew it.”
She laughed. The sound was low and chilling.
“Crazy old bitch! Either you stop this feedback or I’ll stop it for you!”
The noise eased, faded, vanished. “You don’t frighten me, Skerry,” the old woman rasped. “You and your parlor tricks. None of you can scare me.” Leita was on her feet now, almost skipping around the table. “But you’re scared, aren’t you? The supermutant is coming. In fact, he’s here. Is he of us? Which clan? Nobody knows.” She cackled like a witch.
“Stop talking in riddles,” Rebekah said. “What supermutant, Leita? What do you see?”
“Oh, you’re not going to start believing her loony predictions now, are you?” Skerry rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen normals who had better accuracy.”
Rebekah ignored him. “Leita, what do you see?”
The old woman stopped her odd skipping dance and sat down. Her voice took on a crooning tone.
“He’s come. Turn on your wallscreen, Bekah. He’s sitting there, bold as day. There’s a ring of power around him would burn any mutant esper trying to get through.” She gave Skerry a sidelong glance and smiled with open malice.
“Screen on,” Rebekah said. A patch of wall behind her came to life, rainbow colors resolving into a news bulletin. Anchorwoman Nesse of Cable
News was interviewing a pale young man. His hair was so blond it almost looked white. And his eyes—they were a startling shade. Not brown, nor blue, not green nor hazel. Not even mutant gold. They were icy, opaque silver. The shimmering iris was banded by violet.
Michael shivered. The man looked unearthly.
Skerry whistled tunelessly. “Holy shit,” he said. “Where did he come from?”
Every golden eye in the room was trained on the screen.
“Audio,” Rebekah requested.
“Mr. Ashman, just exactly how can you claim to be an evolved form of mutant … a ‘supermutant,’ as you say?” Nesse asked.
“Easily,” the man replied. He had a soft tenor voice, almost girlish. “For example, you’re thinking that I’m probably some kind of glory-seeking hoaxer. And you’re also wondering how you can turn this into a scoop that’ll further your career without making you look like a naive fool, but you’re not sure if it’s worth the risk and—”
“Thank you.” Nesse’s face was red. “Well, apparently, you can read minds, but many mutants have telepathic abilities, or so we’ve been told. What makes you special?”
This time, the man remained silent. He smiled. And every piece of blue furniture on the set except his chair levitated out of camera range.
“Mr. Ashman, please let me down.” Nesse’s voice sounded shrill. Panicked.
He nodded. The furniture, with anchorwoman in place, floated down and gently settled back into place.
“Well, that was interesting.” Nesse straightened her tunic and ran her hand over her bald head self-consciously. “But we’ve all heard about doubly talented mutants. At least, some of us have. What else can you do?”
I can talk to everybody in your audience without opening my mouth. In fact, even as you hear this in your mind, Nesse, every person watching this, mutant and non, is also hearing my voice in their head, regardless of where they are, on the planet or in space.
Ashman stared pleasantly into the camera.
“Omigod,” Michael said aloud.
Ashman’s words perched in his mind. He began to sweat. His pink shirt was sticking to his back. That mindspeech had been direct, clear, as though Ashman had been standing across the room. Slowly, very slowly, the sense of psychic invasion dwindled. His pulsebeat calmed.
“Bad news,” Skerry said. “Very bad news.”
Onscreen, the young man with silver eyes smiled.
CHAPTER SIX
.
“Screen off opinions? suggestions?” Pale but controlled, Rebekah looked around the room. The clan was silent. Michael thought they all seemed stunned. Even Skerry had nothing to say. His expression, for once, was sober.
“We’ve got to find out who this guy is,” Michael said. “Where he came from.”
“He doesn’t even look mutant, not like us,” said Sue Li.
“He isn’t like us,” Leita said. “That’s the point.”
“What kind of crazy mutant would expose himself on the news?” asked a young woman with olive skin and wildly curling blond hair. “And with silver eyes? He’s a fake. Has to be.”
“Or crazy.”
“He’ll cause trouble for all of us. The normals won’t be able to handle it. They’ll lynch him.”
“Just so long as it’s him and not us,” Skerry said.
“We’ve got to find out who he is,” Rebekah said. “And right away. Any volunteers here?” She stared pointedly at Skerry.
“Oh no.” He stood up, holding his hands out in warning. “Don’t look at me, Bekah. I just remembered an important appointment in Tangiers …” Even as he spoke, Skerry seemed to fade away until all that was left was his voice, trailing behind.
Rebekah leaped to her feet. “Skerry, come back here! How can you run out like this when we need you?”
The wind whistling in from the open door was the only answer she received.
“I’ll go catch him,” Michael said. He grabbed his gray jacket and hurried out into the dusk.
Rebekah called after him. “Be careful out there. It’s easy to get lost.”
The fog gave a soft, spectral feel to the twilight. In a moment, Michael was far from the meeting hall, on a sloping path leading into wooded canyon.
“Skerry? Come on, don’t go away,” Michael called. “I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you.”
No answer.
Michael levitated over a stand of red-trunked manzanita and landed in a clearing ringed by towering eucalyptus trees. Their clean, balsam scent was powerful in the still air.
“Skerry! Dammit, I know you can hear me.”
Michael walked deeper into the woods. It was no use. He’d never locate his elusive cousin. The path divided and he hurried on along the left-hand fork. He passed gooseberry bushes glowing in the dusk. The silence was unnerving. He looked behind him. Which way had he come? He levitated upward, but below him was a canopy of pines and eucalyptus.
Cursing, he landed and tried to retrace his steps. Surely the path was over here. No. Well, here then. If only he had mindspeech, he could call out to the clan. Or night sight, so that he could see beyond the trees. Just as he was beginning to consider shouting for help, he felt a mental prickle.
Stop bashing around. These are all protected native plants.
“Skerry?”
No. If you’re looking for that other esper, he’s about two miles away, heading south fast. Hold on, I’ll call him for you. There. He’s coming back.
“Who are you?”
The linkage faded. In its place, a buzzing came, almost electronic, like a swarm of angry metal bees.
All right, I’m back.
“Jesus, you are a pain in the ass,” Michael said. He sank down on a rock. “First I get lost in the woods looking for you, then the old man of the forest tells me to keep off the grass.”
Jason? He’s all right.
Michael looked over his right shoulder. His left. All he saw was darkness. “Dammit, Skerry, materialize. I’m tired of talking to phantoms.”
Don’t be so touchy.
The buzzing took on a rhythmic quality, almost musical, and then it was musical: the “Flight of the Bumblebee.” Suddenly, a thousand golden insects beat their wings against the night sky, flying in formation, coalescing, until in place of the bees was a bearded, grinning mutant. Skerry.
“Could you turn off the soundtrack, please?”
The woods were silent.
“Thanks.”
Skerry sat down next to him. “Well, did you have Jason call me back just so you could criticize my musical taste?”
“Get serious. You know why I came after you. I think you should go check out that guy Ashman. He’s strange. Scary. Don’t you care?”
“Of course I do.” Skerry’s tone was sharp. “But I don’t like being ordered around. Skerry do this. Skerry do that. Quick, Skerry, save the supposedly free world from itself.” He made a sour face. “I’m getting kind of old for this stuff. Isn’t there any other member of this clan who can go check out this so-called supermutant?” He paused and gave his cousin the once-over. “You look like you’re in pretty good shape for a desk jockey. Why don’t you go?”
Michael grinned, “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I’ve got enough problems already.”
“Such as?”
“The Moonstation disaster.”
“What have you got to do with that?” Skerry’s tone was incredulous.
“My old man helped build parts for the dome that blew.”
“So?”
“So I’ve been invited by the government to discuss this at Armstrong Airbase on Monday.” Michael forced himself to sound genial, unconcerned.
“Jesus, a congressional investigation?” Even Skerry was impressed. “Think they’ll nail you?”
“If they can. But I’m not going to give them any help.”
Skerry patted him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Okay, so that’s one catastrophe. What else? No, wait. Let me guess. The gorgeous wife.”
>
Michael nodded curtly.
“Where is she, by the way? And the bambina?”
“Back home in Piedmont. The bambina is almost fifteen. And just like Jena.”
“A looker?”
“Of course.” Michael’s voice was acid. “And just as self-absorbed.”
Skerry chuckled. “I’m glad you said it instead of me. But who told you to marry her?”
“The Mutant Council, remember? There was this slight case of pregnancy. …”
“You’ve gotten sarcastic in your old age, kiddo.” Skerry stood up, stretched. “Not that I blame you.”
Michael followed his lead. “Oh, go ahead and blame me. I think I was a fool not to follow your advice and take off years ago.”
“The road’s not for everybody, Mike.”
“No, especially not for mutants who put community before their own best interests.” He gave a self-mocking smile. “And I’ve given the precious community my daughter, for all the good it will do them. I’ve no doubt she’ll have herself sterilized before she’s nineteen. She’s already had a contravention block.”
“Just as well, unless you’re eager to be a grandpa.”
“No thanks.” Michael stared up at the stars twinkling above them. They were cool, silvery. Like Ashman’s eyes. He turned to his cousin. “Are you afraid of this supermutant?”
“No. Just tired.” His voice had a hollow ring to it. “Come on, let’s get out of the woods.” Skerry began walking uphill at a healthy pace.
Michael hurried after him, eager not to get lost again.
“Do you think he’s for real?”
“No. If I did, then I might be scared. He’s probably just some jumped-up multitalent.”
“Not like any other multi I’ve ever met,” Michael said.
Skerry stopped walking. “What do you mean?”
“Well, his control. I can’t levitate and use my telekinesis at the same time. I don’t know anybody else who can, either. But Ashman didn’t seem to flinch, even when he was mind-speaking while levitating an entire set full of furniture.”
