9
“I’M SORRY MISS ryton. We simply don’t have anything for you.” The pale face on the screen stared at her without expression. The nameplate on his desk read paul edwards, employment counselor.
Melanie stared at him in disbelief.
“But I filled out an application,” she said. “You sent me a letter telling me I had the job. See?” She held the printout in front of the monitor.
Pale Mr. Edwards scanned the letter.
“I’m afraid that must have been a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“Obviously, we overcommitted. You’re the third applicant I’ve had to turn away today.”
I’ll bet, Melanie thought. And did they all have golden eyes too? She crumpled the letter in her fist. Aloud, she asked, “What should I do now? I’ve spent all my money just getting here.”
The pale face remained impassive. “I’m sorry. I suggest you call your family and ask them to send you a ticket home. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The screen faded to black. Melanie bit her lip and gathered up her pack. The pink linen suit she’d worn itched. She wondered if the job would have still existed if she’d worn contact lenses to cover her mutant eyes. Blatant discrimination was against the law, of course. But a job suddenly evaporating owing to clerical error? That wasn’t discrimination, was it?
She walked out of the interview cubicle and passed through the vast office, empty save for one receptionist, the only human being in the convention employment office that Melanie had seen face to face. She left the air-conditioned sanctuary, stepping through sliding glass doors into the full heat of noonday Washington in late May. The leaves on the maples lining the sidewalk hung motionless. The air smelled cloying with the scent of roses past their prime. A few people moved slowly past the building, like sleepwalkers, weighed down by the heat. Melanie stripped off her jacket.
What was she going to do? Go home? No. That was admitting defeat. She’d come here and now she’d stay here. She’d show everybody she could take care of herself. Melanie fought back the impulse to sob in defeat and frustration. She saw a kiosk on the corner, and with a few of her precious remaining credit chips she purchased a printout of the want ads. Surely there was something she could do in Washington.
Michael watched Kelly walk, naked, across her bedroom to get a joystick. Although he usually admired the sight of her trim body in motion, tonight he felt irritated. “Why do you have to go away for two months?” he asked, testily.
“My father rented a cabin at Lake Louise for July and August,” Kelly said, offering him a joystick as she put one in her mouth. He shook his head in refusal.
“I didn’t know you were such an outdoors type.”
She smiled. “I’m not, although I wouldn’t mind some cooler weather.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to. Honestly, Michael, it’ll only be for a month. You make it sound as though it’s forever.”
“Your father’s just trying to break us up.” Michael stood up and started pacing the room.
“You’re paranoid. I’m the one who should be worried, after meeting your ‘charming’ cousin.”
“Jena?” For a moment, Michael remembered the scent of musky perfume, the warmth of her hand on his arm. Angrily, he banished the memory. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I told you we shouldn’t have gone to that party. I still think she was attempting a mindrape.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.” Kelly leaned back against the pillows. “I just got dizzy, that’s all. Besides, you said she was telekinetic.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Well, whatever she is, I don’t like it. She’s too friendly. Too interested in you.”
“That’s the clan’s doing,” Michael said. “Don’t worry. The feeling is definitely not mutual.”
Kelly smiled. “Good. And I’ve satisfied my curiosity about mutant parties for quite a while. Maybe a lifetime.”
“But you’re still going to Lake Louise?”
“Yes.” She put down the joystick and reached for him. “Now give me something that will make me want to come home.”
Benjamin Cariddi locked the door of his office. The laser key also unlocked the desk, and with a simple command from him, the deskscreen rose out of the keypad like an electronic flower blooming. He checked the deskchron: eleven P.M. Keyed in a code with a cloaking prefix. The screen rang three times before his call was answered.
“Ben?” A resonant male baritone asked. The screen stayed dark on the other end as well, but Benjamin had seen that face so often he could sketch its features.
“Who else?”
“Any luck?”
“Two fifteen-year-olds and a thirteen-year-old.”
“All fertile?”
“Of course.”
“Good, you know the procedure then.”
“Sure. I’m running low on narcodane.”
“You’ll have a new case in the morning.…” A pause. Benjamin knew the next question even before it was asked. “Any mutants in this group?”
“No.”
“Well, keep looking.”
“Always.”
* * *
James Ryton tried to stop pacing, but his legs seemed compelled, beyond his control. From kitchen to front door, to living room, from wallscreen to window, he made the circuit of the room, pacing back and forth over the blue carpet. His wife watched from the couch, eyes unreadable, face pale. He lit his pipe, watched it go out, relit it, but did not smoke it. Should he call the police? Halden?
“James, you’re making me dizzy,” Sue Li said.
He turned toward her, feeling a hundred outraged voices singing in his head. “No note, no message. I don’t know what to do.” Never before in his life could he recall feeling this indecisive. This helpless.
“Let’s just wait until Michael comes home. Maybe he’ll have some information we don’t.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Ryton’s head throbbed. His mental flares were recurring, and their clairaudient cacophony was giving him a headache. These damned flares usually hit whenever he was agitated, like a migraine with echoes. His father had suffered from them, and his father before him.
A small voice whispered to Ryton that this was the first step on that slow journey to madness that so many of his brethren had made. Would he end his days gibbering in a locked room, tormented by the distorted echoes of his own clairaudience? He shoved the thought away with a prayer for a quick death, and turned back to his wife.
“Then we’ll decide what to do.”
“You’re awfully calm.” He felt irritation, suddenly, at her impassive glance, her cool demeanor. Sue Li and her Buddha face.
“I only seem that way. Of course I’m concerned. But it doesn’t make sense for both of us to be wearing a hole in the floor pads.” She paused. “Let me put on the chants. They’ll help to clear your head.”
“No! Nothing.” He knew that not even the clan chants could soothe him nor silence the antiphonal Greek chorus that cluttered and yowled at him. Tranquilizers might help, but then his judgment would be impaired. He felt as though he was walking across the floor of a noisy convection oven in which the power had just been turned up. He loosened his collar.
The front door opened with a hiss and Michael walked in.
“Mom. Dad.” He paused. “What’s up?”
“Michael, did your sister say anything to you about taking a summer job in Washington?” Ryton asked hoarsely.
“Mel? No. I thought she was visiting cousin Evra.”
“So did we,” Sue Li said.
“She’s not?”
Ryton shook his head. “We called a few hours ago. Evra is visiting her sister in Colorado. They haven’t seen Melanie since school closed for the holidays.” He felt the roaring sensation building in his head. Gingerly, he sat down in his chair. “We finally found the message on the homescreen. No address. Just a note that she’ll be in touch with us once she’s settled.”
“Have you checked her room?”
“Of course. She only took a few pieces of clothing. Everything else is here.”
“How about her money—her credit chips?”
Ryton felt annoyed. He hadn’t thought of looking for them. He turned to his wife. “Did you look for them?”
“No.”
“Where does she keep them?”
“In the third drawer of her desk.”
He took the stairs two at a time. But he knew, even before he reached the room, that the drawer would be empty. He came back shaking his head.
“Gone.”
“Could Jimmy have hidden them?” Sue Li asked.
Ryton tried to restrain his anger. Jimmy was asleep, and blameless, he was certain. He couldn’t imagine waking him for this. Not yet.
“Of course not.”
“So she’s finally done it.” Michael smiled in a peculiar way that Ryton didn’t care for. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of him. “Good for Mel.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Dad, that you should have seen this coming. She’s wanted to prove her independence for a long time.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I thought you knew. Besides, I never suspected she’d really do it.”
Ryton reached for the message screen. “We have to call the police. Halden as well.”
“She has to be gone twenty-four hours before you can report her as a missing person.”
“She’s been gone all weekend.”
“Would Kelly have any idea where she’s gone?” Sue Li asked quietly.
“I don’t know. She didn’t say anything about it tonight.” He stared at his father defiantly.
“So that’s where you were.” Ryton felt chagrined. His son said nothing. “Well, first thing in the morning, better call that girl and tell her, in case Mel tries to contact her.”
“I will, for all the good it will do. They’re going away for a month.”
Ryton stared at Michael, looking in vain for a shadow of the child he had been. His children were growing up, becoming strangers with cold faces. Running away. The world was going crazy. He reached for the screen keyboard and punched in Halden’s code. The screen remained blank, dark green. After a minute, the audio switched on.
“Halden, James here.”
“A problem?” Halden’s voice sounded thick, furry.
“Afraid so. My daughter has disappeared.”
The screen rippled with motes, which solidified into Halden’s face, rumpled from sleep. He turned away from the screen for a moment as if answering a query from somebody out of range. Zenora, most likely. When he turned back, he looked grim.
“A runaway?”
“So it appears. She lied to us about some party, then left a message about getting a job in Washington.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Two days.”
Halden whistled tunelessly. “Why’d you wait to call?”
“We thought she was visiting Evra.”
“I’ve warned you before that Melanie was unhappy.”
Ryton felt his self-control waning. “We all knew she was unhappy, Halden. But what was there to be done about it? I didn’t call you for a lecture on child care.”
Halden nodded. “You’re right, James. No use bringing that up now. Could this job be legitimate?”
“Unknown.”
“I’ll spread the word. You realize how difficult it will be to find her, especially since she’s a null?”
“Yes, yes,” Ryton said, feeling impatient. “I’m fully aware of the limitations on telepathic netting. Even we have our limits.”
“Not to mention Melanie’s dysfunction acting almost like an echo screen.”
“Then look for a blank space which repulses our efforts. That certainly would describe her.” Ryton could hear the hiss of Sue Li’s breath, the emanation of horror at his statement.
Halden grimaced. “James, I realize you’re under tremendous stress, but if that’s how you talk about your daughter, I’m not surprised she left with so little notice.”
“I’m sorry, Halden. This is very unsettling. She’s just a child.”
“Do you know anyone in Washington?”
“No. Wait, yes, in Jacobsen’s office.”
“I suggest you get in touch first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.” The screen went dark.
Ryton turned to his family. Sue Li had her lips pursed in a way that he knew meant trouble later. Michael was frowning, his face red.
“Way to go, Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
His son shook his head. “Uncle Halden is right. You are un-fucking-believable.”
“Don’t use that kind of language with me.” The voices in Ryton’s head resumed their arguments. He massaged his forehead wearily.
“I’ll bet you’re not half as concerned with Mel’s safety as you are about how this will look at the summer clan meeting.
“Michael!” Sue Li sounded shocked.
Ryton’s head pounded. This was just one more noisy voice added to his torment. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Michael,” Sue Li said. “Your father is terribly upset. And you know he gets mental flares when he’s agitated.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, I also know that my sister is out there someplace, maybe in trouble, and all you can do is whine to Uncle Halden.”
“Michael, that’s enough!” Sue Li said.
Ryton turned away from both of them and walked toward the bathroom. He had to get something to stop the noise, the pain.
The lights in the movie theater dimmed as the promo started again. The now familiar images of Moonstation filled the screen. Mel had watched it three times already. She could almost recite the narration by heart. Moonstation looked like an interesting place to visit. The little domes, the smiling people in the bright-blue suits. Even the machinery they drove looked strange and exotic. Maybe they didn’t care about mutants on the moon. Maybe she’d go there someday.
She pulled her jacket up sleepily around her. The theater was almost empty. She could probably stay here all night. The Hyde Rider film marathon would last until noon the next day. She would decide what to do tomorrow. Maybe she’d fake her father’s credit number and take the monorail to Denver. Maybe she’d find a job. At least there was nobody telling her what to do and how to do it. She fell into a light sleep, dreaming of floating under a dome, pink ribbons tied to her ankles as though she were a balloon.
10
THE PRINTOUTS FROM the solar collector reports fanned across James Ryton’s desk in a yellow arc, but he stared at them with eyes blinded by guilt and fear. Why had Melanie gone? They’d done everything they could for her, hadn’t they? She was an unworldly girl, innocent and at risk. He didn’t want to think about the kind of perils waiting for her. Melanie belonged at home, where people cared about her and would take care of her.
Fear had made him speak harshly about his daughter to Halden, fear and those damned mental flares. Sue Li had prepared a calming herbal mixture for him this morning, and the flares had subsided to faint echoes, thank the deities. By the time he called the police, Ryton felt his self-control was back in place, like armor.
They’d been polite, of course. The police were always polite. A bit cavalier, but courteous.
“We’ll put a tracer on your daughter,” Sergeant Mallory had told him. “This happens all the time after graduation. In a week or two, she’ll be back.”
After he signed off, the cops had probably all shared a good laugh about how even mutants had to cope with rebellious children. Normals, Ryton thought. What good were they?
He stopped drumming his fingers on the gray plaswood desktop. While he had little use for most nonmutants, one had been sympathetic and cooperative when he needed her help. And she was in just the right place, too. Ryton turned to his deskscreen and requested the dial code for Andrea Greenberg. She
answered on the fourth ring, looking moderately surprised.
“Mr. Ryton? Did you get my message about the Marsbase allocations bill?”
He nodded rapidly. “Yes, and thank you for your help on that. We were gratified by the vote.”
“I thought you might be. So what can I do for you today?”
“Ms. Greenberg, I have a problem.”
“More NASA regulations?”
“No. This is…personal.” He paused, his voice trailing off self-consciously. How could he involve a nonmutant he scarcely knew in his problems?
“Yes?” Was that impatience in her voice? He was wasting her time. But what did he have to lose? Desperation gave Ryton strength.
“It’s my daughter. She’s run off. At least, I believe she has. She left a message about taking some job in Washington.”
“How old is she?”
“Eighteen.”
Andrea Greenberg frowned. “Mr. Ryton, legally, she’s an adult. And I should think an adult mutant would be able to take care of herself.”
“You don’t know my daughter,” Ryton said. “Melanie has led a sheltered life. And she’s a null.”
“A null?”
“Dysfunctional. She doesn’t have any mutant abilities.”
Andrea Greenberg stared at him, green eyes wide with surprise. “I’ve never heard of dysfunctional mutants before.”
“It’s rare,” Ryton admitted. “And we don’t publicize it.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re concerned.”
Ryton leaned closer to the screen. “Ms. Greenberg, I think my daughter has set out to prove something to us. Or to herself. I’m afraid that what she’ll prove is how much trouble she can get into on her own. My wife and I are terribly worried.”
“I’m sure you are. But could Melanie’s story be true? Perhaps she really has found a job. In which case, you don’t really have anything to worry about.”
“But she didn’t leave us any address, We don’t even know how to contact her. I don’t know what to do. She could be raped. Murdered. I’ve seen it happen before.” Ryton felt as though he were squirming, naked and exposed, before Andrea Greenberg. Just as he began to despair of gaining her help, her expression softened.
The Mutant Season Page 11
