by Haber, Karen
“I don’t know. He was her friend. She sponsored him.”
Skerry shook his head. “Mutants are tricky beasts. Volatile. Peculiar. You never know how we’ll react, and to what. I guess that’s why mutant councils were created. The power of the groupmind can compel even the worst renegade to clean up his act. But Mr. Ashman lives outside of the Mutant Councils’ reach. I’d say he’s spending most of his time in Edge City. And I’m afraid he’s taken Narlydda with him.”
“That may be a blessing,” Yosh said. “Better than finding her here. Like poor Tavia.”
Skerry rounded on him. “I don’t want to hear that,” he said with quiet menace. “Don’t mention it. Don’t even think it—remember, I can hear you think.”
“Sorry.” I see what you mean about unpredictable, Yosh thought.
“Good.”
“You know, Tavia had a private shuttle.”
“Rich lady.”
“No, that’s not my point,” Yosh said quickly. “I’ll bet Ashman took it. If we can check the log for it, we might find out where he’s headed.”
“I’ll have to get Anne Verland back on line for that,” Skerry said.
“Maybe not. We might be able to gain access from Tavia’s screen.”
“You really want to go back in there?”
“No. But if it means finding Narlydda … and Melanie, then I’m willing to do it.”
“Okay.” Skerry watched him carefully. “Want me to put an esper shield around Mrs. Emory? You won’t even notice her.”
“Can you do that?” Yosh asked.
“Sure.”
For a moment, Yosh was tempted. What a wonder these mutant powers were. Then he smiled sadly. “No. I can take it now. Thanks.”
Skerry patted him on the back. “Stout fellow.”
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.
They moved through the pressurized portal and into a dome environment carpeted in soothing greens and blues. The cold white stars winked at them through the transparent dome casing.
“Home at last,” Ashman said. He unzipped his orange pressure suit and gestured for her to do the same. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach felt like a leaden ball.
“Well, I’m starved.” He straightened his gray pants and tunic. “Space travel must work up a hearty appetite.”
She watched in amazement as he sauntered toward the mech wall and ordered a choba roll.
Doesn’t anything bother him? she thought. A quick trip up in the shuttle and he’s ready for lunch.
With
a grinding whine, the mech extruded the food through a white acrylic nozzle. Ashman caught it telekinetically, unwrapped it, and popped one of the green rolls into his mouth. “Mmm. Pretty good.” Munching contentedly, he wandered around the dome.
Why has he brought me here, hundreds of miles above the Earth? What was he thinking of, she wondered. Or was he thinking at all? Would he just lead her on a strange odyssey? What was next, the Moon? She was getting tired of being dragged around like somebody’s baggage.
“Ashman, why are we here?” Narlydda demanded.
He looked astonished. “You’re angry. Why? I just wanted to be someplace less public. Less accessible. And easy to defend.”
“This is easy to defend?” She gestured skeptically around the room.
“Of course.” Ashman sounded as though he were addressing a four-year-old child. “Richard Emory had all his factories equipped with state-of-the-art nuclears and lasers.”
“What? He must have been paranoid,” Narlydda said. “Besides, I thought private arsenals were outlawed years ago.
Ashman’s laughter bounced around the dome.
“You know that the rich can always find or finance ways to circumvent the rules.” He finished the last bite of choba roll and wiped his fingers fastidiously on a napkin. “And Mr. Emory didn’t just circumvent the rules. He reinvented them. His factories are orbital fortresses. I don’t even think Tavia knew to what extent her husband was prepared for Armageddon. How disappointed he must have been when it never arrived. And now it never will.”
“You hope.”
“I know.” Ashman wasn’t smiling anymore. “Once I’ve had a chance to rest and gain my strength, I’ll make sure that I enforce a lasting peace. That was Tavia’s intention for me, and I’d like to make it a kind of memorial to her.”
“Memorial? Then you did kill her!”
“I didn’t want her killed.” Ashman frowned and his voice took on an earnest tone. “Truly I didn’t. But Tavia can be so tiresome. So demanding. She’d never have left me alone. And her dreams of a pure, perfect peace led by the Mutant Council were pathetic. I thought maybe if I kept her asleep for a while, I could get away. That shot was supposed to simulate a comatose state. But Sarnoff overdid it, the idiot.”
“So you killed him, too?”
