The Mutant Prime

by Haber, Karen

  “What’s your name?”

  “Melanie Ryton. I’m a reporter.”

  Their eyes locked, mutual attraction pulsing between them. Finally she broke the spell, looked away, tapping her foot.

  “What do you do?” Her voice was a rich, lilting alto. Good tonality, he thought.

  “I’m a musician.”

  “For Emory Foundation?”

  “That’s right.”

  She smiled. Yosh felt electrified. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Quick, think of something to say.

  “So, Melanie-Ryton-from-Cable-News, my offer still stands. You’re a long way from Tavia’s office. Would you like a guide?”

  She gave him a sly look. “Actually, I’d rather hear you play something.” She smiled again. And as he watched, she sank down on a pile of orange cushions.

  Yosh grinned back. “My pleasure. I’ve just finished composing something I hope you’ll enjoy.” He reached for his flute, never taking his eyes from her.

  The audience had overflowed the auditorium seating. There were rows of mutants standing, shoulder to shoulder, up the aisles and around the back of the hall. Jena had never seen a Mutant Union meeting so packed. All eyes were trained on the Mutant Union officers onstage. And all everybody wanted to do was talk about Ashman the supermutant. She watched eagerly as Wade Walters took the microphone to address the crowd.

  “Friends, as you know, Dr. Sarnoff was going to discuss the end of experimentation on mutant subjects in Russia and Eastern Europe. Unfortunately, he has been called away on urgent business. Therefore, we will throw this meeting open to debate. The subject before us is Victor Ashman. Is he friend or foe? You all know my opinion. I believe we should cultivate the supermutant. He can work with us to better our lives. Any discussion?”

  “How do we know we can trust him?” Kira Remmer demanded. She had run for a seat on the board in the last election but had failed to qualify. “Will he submit to DNA fingerprinting? Will he work with us on mutant rights?”

  Wade shook his head. “We don’t have the answers to those questions yet. We hope to have them soon. I’m sure Ashman will be eager to work with us.”

  “Spoken like a true politician,” Kira said. She smiled oddly. “You’re positive yet you don’t have answers. Meanwhile this dangerous enigma is frightening the normals, appearing on television, and seems to have a wealthy woman in his pocket.”

  “Why doesn’t he come to see us?” shouted a violet-haired man with silver studs on either side of his nose. “He should be here among us if he cares about us at all.”

  A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

  “That’s the point,” a piercing voice said, cutting through the din. A round-faced man of middle size, tan with dark hair, stood up: Chemen Astori, the East Coast Book Keeper. The hall quieted around him. Astori rarely attended union meetings, but when he did, he proved to be a formidable opponent in a debate. “Ashman doesn’t care, and if we fool ourselves into thinking that his laxity in contacting us is just confusion rather than arrogance, we’re asking for trouble.”

  Wade flashed a warning look at Astori, but he ignored him. “To invite him to a union meeting may have disastrous results,” he said.

  “What kind of disaster?” Kira Remmer demanded.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worrying about floods or pestilence,” said a dark-haired mutant sporting a goatee. “What could he do?”

  “He could make you think whatever he desired,” Astori said. “Convince you to rise up, a mutant army, and depose the normals. Marshal a squad of telekinetics to tear apart the Pentagon. He could tell you that day is night and night is day, and you would all find yourselves sleeping at noon, awake at midnight.”

  “I don’t believe in this, or him,” the bearded mutant said scornfully.

  “Whether you do or not, he believes in himself. And that’s all that matters.”

  “I agree in spirit with the Book Keeper,” Kira said. “But I think we should demand answers from Ashman. He’s frightened enough people already.”

  “What do we need him for?” cried the mutant with violet hair.

  “More importantly, what might he need us for?” Astori said. Around him, several Mutant Union members began clapping.

  “And I think it’s too soon to know,” Wade said forcefully. “If we prejudge Ashman and reject him, we may alienate a powerful potential ally. We just don’t know enough yet.”

  “Listen to Wade,” a pale-skinned, gray-haired mutant shouted. “Don’t slam the door on the future.”

  A loud chorus agreed with him.

  Wade smiled and held up his hands. “It’s important to raise all these issues now. And these are all good questions. I’m certain that, in time, they’ll be answered. But right now, all I can tell you is that Ashman told me personally that he wishes to address us, and soon. That sounds like he intends to work with us.”

  The room erupted into applause again.

  Chemen Astori shook his head. “I’ve said what I came here to say.” And with that, he made his way to the door and was gone.

  Jena watched him leave and thought that the Book Keeper was certainly a bad sport. Wade was right. Ashman could make the mutants stronger, work with them. Maybe she’d even get a chance to meet him after all. She’d have to make up with Wade after the meeting. Wouldn’t do to be quarreling with him if Ashman came to visit. Besides, she was lonely. She’d expected to spend more time with Wade as long as Michael was out of town. But Wade was so busy these days. Well, she’d see about that.

  Kira Remmer stood up. “I move that we request a special meeting with Ashman at which he must answer our questions candidly. If he does that, then we’ll believe him.”

  “Seconded,” shouted a bald man behind her.

  “The motion has been made and seconded,” said Terra Barr, the Mutant Union secretary. “All in favor?”

  “Aye!”

  The hall rang with the voice of the assembled mutants.

  “Opposed?”

  The only sound was that of a hundred hearts beating, a hundred mutants breathing as one.

  “Is there any further business?” Wade asked. “No? Then this meeting is dismissed.”

  Jena hurried out of the building to wait by Wade’s skimmer. Every group of mutants she passed was talking excitedly about Ashman. She heard his name mentioned in almost every sentence. When would she get to meet him? She couldn’t wait.

  Although Wade usually left these meetings promptly, he seemed to be dawdling. Impatiently, Jena checked her watch. Where was he? Finally, fifteen minutes later, Wade came around the comer of the building. But he was not alone. Kira was with him, laughing and walking very close to him. Too close. Jena recalled belatedly that Kira had managed to accompany the Mutant Union contingent to see Ashman.

  “Wade, I’d like to talk to you,” Jena said.

  He frowned, turned to Kira, and said something softly in her ear. She nodded and hung back.

  “Well?”

  “Aren’t you glad to see me?” She moved in close. To her dismay, he pulled away.

  “I thought you’d decided to save your marriage.” His tone was hostile.

  “Well, yes. But I thought—”

  “You thought you could have it both ways? I’m sorry, Jena. I don’t want to be a plaything for a bored woman. We could have had a nice relationship if you’d been willing to take a risk. But that’s over.” He turned away. “And if you’re so concerned about that husband of yours, you should be on the West Coast. From what I understand, this investigation is going to ruin him, poor bastard.” Without another word, he got into his skimmer, Kira beside him.

  “But—but …”

  Open-mouthed, she watched them drive away. That son of a bitch. To humiliate her this way. She’d get even. Somehow.

  Fuming, she drove home to find Herra’s notescreen blinking: Gone to Treena’s for weekend. Fine. She grabbed a hypo from the bar and jabbed it against her arm. A moment later, the warmth of the chem
ical had relaxed her enough to consider turning on the screen.

  A Cable News jock with green hair was standing outside a low building at Armstrong Shuttlebase, giving a report on the Moonstation disaster investigation.

  “Today’s testimony was given by Marshall Kemp of Technar Industries and Michael Ryton of the embattled Ryton, Greene and Davis.”

  The scene shifted to the interior of a large, greenish room lined with long, faded draperies. The camera panned along the panel of congressmen and women. She saw her husband’s face for a moment. Then, somebody else, familiar, from the past. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Kelly McLeod. And she was staring intently at Michael.

  Michael walked to a payscreen. He had half an hour before they resumed grilling him. Might as well check in on business. As he expected, the news was bad.

  “We’ve had five contract cancellations,” Penny confirmed. She looked more frazzled than he’d ever seen before. Her normally immaculate desk was covered with printouts. Even her shirt collar was askew, one yellow flap up, one down. “I don’t have to tell you that the government accounts are running scared,” she said. “And I don’t even want to tell you what accounts receivable looks like. Serious cash-flow problems, Michael. Serious. We may have to consider layoffs to cut overhead.” Her expression was partly annoyed and partly sympathetic.

  Michael winced. “That’s half the contracts for this quarter,” he said. “Jesus, Pen. If it gets much worse, we’ll have to declare Chapter 14.”

  She paused, jaw working. Then she lowered her eyes and spoke quickly. Nervously. “Or you take a leave of absence. Let Dan Thomas run the company with Bill Sutherland. Take a vacation.”

  Michael stared at her in disbelief. “Are you suggesting that I go away?”

  “Be reasonable, Michael The media is howling for your blood. You’re this season’s sacrifice. Oh, it’ll all blow over, just like it did in the eighties. But if you want to save your company, I suggest you take an extended vacation.” She met his eyes reluctantly. “You’ll stay on the payroll, of course.”

  “So long as I don’t do any work.” Michael sagged against the green payscreen shield. What choice did he have? He was tempted to stand and fight. But the price for that could be the loss of his company. His father’s company. For a moment, the gray image of his father at Dream Haven flickered before his eyes. And then his mind was made up. “I’ll take leave, Pen. Effective immediately. You’re promoted to chief financial officer and acting chief executive officer. Put in Thomas as chief of engineering. And get to damage control as soon as possible.”

  “Right.” She punched some notations into a notescreen. “Michael, as soon as you’re back from Armstrong, we’ll dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Don’t worry. Within a year, you’ll be back in the front office.” She smiled gently. “I’m sorry we have to resort to such drastic measures right now. Take care of yourself, dear. Don’t let the congressional wolves nibble off all your toes.”

  “Thanks, Pen. You’re a good friend. I won’t forget it.”

  His thoughts in turmoil, he turned away from the screen, and saw a woman dressed in purple fatigues standing as though waiting to use the phone. It was Kelly McLeod.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been looking for you.” Her face was pale and strained. “A message came in through the main switchboard. I heard you being paged, and when you didn’t answer it, I took it. Something about your father. It’s urgent that you contact a place called Dream Haven.”

  Fear gripped him with a cold hand. Dad. What now? He looked at Kelly, and for some reason, the sight of her enraged him.

  “Don’t you have to be someplace?” he snapped. “Getting into further space disasters and doing your part to ruin honest businessmen?”

  “Michael, I—”

  “Save it.” He turned back toward the payscreen and asked for the Dream Haven code.

  A big, swarthy male nurse answered. “Michael Ryton? Yes, we have a message for you. Some bad news, I’m afraid. Your father, James, was found before dawn, this morning, at the foot of a bluff. He’d fallen in the night.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes. In critical condition.”

  “How could he get out of his cabin?” Michael demanded. “Wasn’t he watched?”

  The mutant nurse stared at him impassively. “We don’t know how he got out. We suggest the family come as soon as possible.” The screen went dark.

  Michael cradled his head on his arms. What else could go wrong? What else? He felt a hand gently rest upon his shoulder. He spun around.

  Kelly.

  “I thought I told you to leave.”

  Her look was sympathetic. “Come on. You need a drink.”

  Michael hesitated. His first urge was to hurry away, to get to Dream Haven as quickly as possible. But maybe he should stop at the office first … no, wait, he had to give further testimony, didn’t he? His head was spinning. Maybe Kelly’s suggestion wasn’t such a bad idea.

  He allowed himself to be led away. But instead of taking him to a bar, Kelly took him to a different building, up a flight of stairs and into a quiet hallway. The room they entered was furnished richly in soft blue and gray tones, with a spacious wallsofa and cushions.

  “What is this place?”

  “Counseling and meditation rooms for officers. Here.” She turned from the roommech and handed him a glass of golden liquid. “Take a good sip. I imagine you need it.”

  “A meditation room with a mechbar?”

  “Each to their own form of comfort.” She smiled.

  “Kelly, I—”

  “Hush.” She held her hand to his lips. Her touch was cool. She sat on the edge of the sofa and sipped a glass of clear liquor meditatively. “Poor Michael.”

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  “How about sympathy?” Her blue eyes were candid. “I couldn’t help overhearing that other call. When it pours, it pours.”

  Michael sighed as the liquor warmed him. “I don’t even want to speculate how things could be worse.” He looked down. “Forgive the self-pitying note. I promise to indulge for only two minutes.”

  “Take five.” She smiled gently. “I certainly would if my life were falling down around my ears.” Abruptly, she stood, walked toward the window, and looked out into the sheltered atrium at the crimson stalks of the bromeliads in bloom. She took another sip and slowly she nodded, as though she’d made a decision.

  “Kelly, I should really contact my family. …”

  “Hush.” She sat beside him and took his face in her hands. Leaned close. Kissed him gently, once. Twice. The third time, the kiss was not as gentle, fueled by something warmer than kindness.

  They broke apart, breathing heavily.

  “This is a hell of a time for sentiment,” Michael said.

  “This isn’t sentiment,” she said. There was a fierceness in her eyes as she pulled him toward her.

  He hesitated, holding her at arm’s length. His father was hurt, his business in turmoil. There was no time for this. There never had been any time for him and Kelly.

  “Michael?” Her blue eyes were luminous. Gently, she touched his face.

  She was lovely. So lovely. He reached out and traced the outline of her lips with his forefinger.

  “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Then she was in his arms and he kissed her hungrily.

  “This time, I won’t let you go,” he said.

  Smiling, Kelly shook her head. “Hush. Don’t promise anything right now. Just use those magical mutant powers to dim the lights.”

  He did, and then there was nothing left to say.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  .

  The music was high, sweet, almost ethereal.

  Melanie watched the thin young man in brown leather coax note after magical note out of the blue glass claviflute. All thoughts of shuttle flights and deadlines had been dispelled by the cascade of fluid arpeggios.

  He’s wonderful, she thought. I�
�ve never heard anything like it. I could listen to him forever.

  The music resounded in the small room, bouncing off the bronzed walls to form a counterpoint which Yosh incorporated into his song. His long, sensitive fingers danced along the claviflute’s golden keys. His face was somber. Eyelids almost closed in meditation.

  He has a beautiful face, she thought.

  What was it about his face that so delighted her? The pleasing sun-browned color? Well, yes, surely that. And the way the sunlight gave green depths to his dark hazel eyes, warming them. The neat way his cap of dark hair fit his head, framing his face. The square jaw. The precise Fu Manchu mustache that lined his lips. And the lips—not too full, not too thin. Sensual. Perfect. To look at him was to desire touch. And more. Much more. Suddenly, she wanted to go beyond the swooping but superficial delights and tenors of this mating dance. To feel the pressure of those elegant fingers upon her. Pheromones, she thought. Wise up, girl. You’ve caught a bad case of chemical infatuation. But she couldn’t take her eyes from his face. Infatuation—it was an alien feeling. But not unpleasant. Melanie relaxed and listened to his music.

  When he finished, she applauded. “Play me something else,” she said, leaning back against the cushions.

  “All right.”

  He took off his jacket, slid down until he was inches away from her, and began a slow, intoxicating melody. His eyes never left hers. When the tune was finished, he put down his flute, leaned over, and kissed her.

  This is crazy, she thought. I don’t have time for this. But she was responding, kissing him back, wanting more.

  “The door’s locked,” Yosh whispered.

  For a moment, she was tempted. But then she remembered what she was there for. Who she was. Pulling back, she straightened her clothing. Shook her head.

  “No. I’ve got to go.”

  The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Me too, she thought. Aloud, she said, “What about that tour you were promising? At least show me the way back to Mrs. Emory’s office.”