Mutant Star

by Karen Haber

  “But—”

  “Of course, if you want time off, you can have it.” She took her seat behind the desk. “There’s not much I can do to stop you. And maybe you really do want to quit the program.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” He stared at her, aghast. “You know how I feel about this research.” But not how I feel about you, he thought. Yet.

  A sly smile lit her face. “Good. Just testing. Julian, we’re bound to discover all sorts of disquieting things through this work. I don’t want you to cave in at the first sign of peculiar data.”

  “I understand.”

  “I may have been a little tough on you, but I’m under some pressure myself.” The fluorescent lights cast blue shadows on her elfin face. She looked tired. “I’ve been getting queries from all over about our experiments. Now I’m getting heat from Dr. Dalheim. He wants results. He should know better. We’ve only been at this six months. The program’s funded for another three. I haven’t heard a peep back on any of our grant applications. But the hint’s been dropped: this space is needed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That if we don’t come up with something impressive soon, we may be looking for a new home.” She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t want this program exposed to publicity before it’s ready—it could turn into a circus.”

  “Not with you in charge.”

  She looked away. “I might not be in charge.”

  “Could that happen?”

  “With the right kind of influence, anything can happen,” she said. “I’ve seen university programs taken over by department chairmen. Or privatized in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, ‘industry’ experts are pulled in. Funding is changed. Next thing you know, a lab in Seoul is the best place for the tests. The original investigators are out in the cold.” Her face, normally so animated, was bleak.

  Julian leaned over and patted her hand. He allowed his touch to linger for a moment. “Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve been getting great results. I feel better already from that shot.”

  Eva brightened. “Wonderful. Want to tap back in?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Together, they walked back to the lab.

  He allowed her to apply the sensors to his forehead and behind his ears, and to reattach the microphone. Her touch was deft and light, and it sent a tingle up his backbone.

  “Ready?”

  He gave her the thumbs-up sign and settled back into the linkage. The familiar rainbow danced before his eyes. A thousand colors to contemplate. And, perhaps, a thousand years.

  ***

  Rick pulled into the red-lined no-parking area behind Green Boot Brain Shop, under the green sign: “When your chips are down, we’ll replace ’em.”

  Shog, the shop boss, greeted him with a scowl. “Nice of you to drop in before lunch, Akimura. There’s three brains waiting on your bench. If you don’t want me to add yours to the bunch, get ’em fixed pronto.”

  “You really are a pleasure in the morning, Shoggie.” Rick blew him a kiss, grabbed his grimy fiberplas apron, and got busy. The delicacy of the work amused and absorbed him. The colorful screenbrain housings, studded with red and silver grids, reminded him of shuttle trips he’d taken as a child with his parents: landing at night, watching the twinkling grids of Metro L.A. looming up and around the landing strip, the streets boxed and reboxed in light.

  He picked up a glittering minichip with his tweezer. He could only see them when he used his mag lenses. The needle-nose tweezer with sublaser capacity welded the chips in place. Steady hands needed here. Funny, but even after a late night of partying, Rick could always concentrate on this work. Golden flakes here. Shining like the sun. Like mutant eyes. Like a fine necklace in a jewel box …

  A hand grasped his shoulder.

  A huge, blurry, big-eyed creature peered down at him. God, no. Not another damned vision. Rick nearly dropped his gear in alarm. Then he remembered his lenses and pushed the stretch band that held them up and over his forehead. Whew. Only Shoggie. A familiar monster.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, Akimura? Look pale, like you’d seen a ghost.” Shog cackled his trademark cackle. “I only wanted to tell you we’ve got two rush jobs coming in. Can you handle ’em this afternoon? It’ll mean overtime.”

  “Sure. Sure.” Ghosts. Was he seeing ghosts? Phantom earthquakes. Flashbacks from old transvids. Got to clean up my act, he thought. No more breen. No more skree wine. Take a B-12 hypo when I get home. Take two to be safe.

  Rick let the benchmech put the finished brains back in their screen housings and vacuum-seal them. Time for lunch. Off with the apron, onto the bike, goodbye Green Boot and hello open road. Home in ten minutes, brain nicely cleansed by the wind.

  His roommate Henley looked up from the table where he was bagging breen for his afternoon deliveries. The pale blue, grainy powder sat in its plastic sack. “Aki, your lady’s in town, shopping. Want a breen buzz for the après-midi?”

  “Thanks, no.”

  Henley raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “All play and no work makes Rick a paranoid boy,” Rick sang as he opened the freeze box and rummaged in the drawers. “This morning I thought Shog was a bug-eyed monster.”

  Henley snickered. “Not far wrong, there.”

  Rick scooped a Wave and Go pizza out of the box and into the microwave drawer. Five minutes to anchovies and cheese. Blast-off.

  He went upstairs. The portascreen was sitting on his bed, blinking fitfully. The picture wasn’t working, but Alanna had managed to type a message: Borrowed Henley’s cycle and went to town. Back at four.

  Rick shook his head. Henley hardly ever lent his cycle to anybody. Perhaps Alanna’s appearance at breakfast in Rick’s shirt—and almost nothing else—had tapped the wellsprings of his latent generosity. Actually, she could have floated into town without the cycle, couldn’t she? But just as well she hadn’t. Alanna’s telekinesis was startling enough without elaborate demonstrations of her ability.

  As he came down the stairs, he saw the front door bang open, powered by a stiff breeze. That damned latch needed fixing.

  “Shit!” Henley hopped to his feet. He grabbed frantically at the mouth of the breen bag. The wind was billowing it open and a pale blue snow floated up and over, coating the faded wallpaper, covering the old chairs and linoleum, dusting everything and everybody in the room.

  Rick gasped and felt the powder begin to choke him. Breen overdose from inhalation meant blindness. Screaming fits. Gapped synapses.

  The ground fell away beneath him. Henley cried out from a great distance. But he was moving strangely now—an effect of the breen? Rick watched with interest as Henley turned away from him, white hair floating on the strange wind. He settled back down into his chair slowly, so slowly, and the blue powder blizzard was swirling, tunneling, pulling back into itself, into its bag. The front door closed. The air was clear. Rick looked at Henley. Henley looked back at him.

  The microwave oven beeped. Pizza ready.

  “What happened, man?” Henley’s pale blue eyes were drilling holes into Rick. “Where’d all that powder go?”

  “Back in the bag, as far as I can tell.” Rick walked over and casually tested the front door. Locked. He scooped a slice of pizza onto a plate and tested it—hot, too hot to eat yet. “But then, who let the breen out of the bag to begin with?”

  “Quit clowning, Akimura. You didn’t just happen to pull some mutant stunt, did you?”

  “’Tweren’t me, old buddy.” Rick took a bite of pizza, burned the roof of his mouth, swallowed quickly. “Remember?” He tapped the side of his head. “Golden eyes, but nobody home? I’ve got that old-time null religion, remember?”

  “Well—” Henley’s tone was strangely mistrustful. “Okay. But if you didn’t save us, then what did?”

  Rick shrugged. “Act of God? Distorted perception? Wrong doors opened and all that: Ask Aldous Huxley.”

  “Who? I don’
t know anybody named Aldous …”

  “Forget it,” Rick said. “Maybe it never really happened. Just a little mutual delusion between friends. But do me a favor, Henley, seal that bag, will you?” He stood up, tossed the plate toward the recycle bin, missed, and left it lying on the floor. “Gotta get back to Green Boot.”

  Henley shrugged, brooding over his breen.

  Rick hurried out the door.

  What had happened in there, he wondered? Why wasn’t he gasping on the floor from an overdose? Were delusions catching? He didn’t understand it. And he didn’t like the way Henley had accused him of pulling some mutant stunt. Luckily, by nightfall, Henley would have forgotten the entire incident, and everything else, including, possibly, his own name. Now if only Rick could do the same. He jumped on his cycle and headed down the road back to work.

  .

  ******************

  5

  The moon hung outside the window of Hawkins’s office, a silver-white lantern as bright as the halogen lamps inside the orbital station.

  “Nice place you’ve got,” “Bus” Farnam said. He gazed around the room and the envy in his voice was unmistakable. “Even back in the Shuttle Corps, you said you’d never leave space. And by God, you made good on that promise. I wondered, after Marsbase …”

  “Gotta get right back on that horse and ride him, Bus. Or give up.” Hawkins smiled at the stocky, balding man. Bus had really let himself go since their space-jockey days. A desk job could do that to you if you weren’t careful. “And you know I don’t give up.”

  “Amen.” Farnam took a refill from the coffee mech. “That’s one reason I contacted you about the cold fusion program at the university.”

  “How’s it going at Cal?”

  “Not well.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Funding.” Farnam shook his head. “I thought we were a shoo-in,” he said. “I figured the other programs would have to scramble. The soft stuff like Eva Seguy’s mutant flare research. Then they cut the budget for the physics department. Damned university politics. I still don’t believe it.”

  “How much do you need?”

  Farnam took a deep breath. “Half a mil.”

  “I see.” Hawkins turned away and pondered the white face of the Moon slipping past the window. “Bus, let’s stretch our legs.”

  Farnam followed him through the door and along a hallway to an atrium gallery. Five stories could be seen below, and five above. Busy mechs floated from one level to another, blue lights blinking in bands across their round bodies. A fountain’s spray lit by a shifting spectrum of crylights performed lazy acrobatics in its shielded low-g environment. Everywhere was light and movement. Between the atrium levels, the velvet darkness of space, punctuated by stars, could be seen through domed windows.

  Farnam whistled in appreciation.

  “Do you really use all this?”

  “It’s more than I need. I take one floor for my personal quarters. My company, Aria Corp., is housed on the floor below that. Staff accommodations, the kitchen, theater, concessions, day-care and school, and exercise areas take up the third level and fourth. I’ve rented one floor to NASA, another to Tokyo News. Half a floor is taken up with hydroponics experiments, but there’s still room for more. And that doesn’t even begin to make use of the auxiliary Pavilion in piggyback orbit.”

  “Very impressive.”

  “I like it.” Hawkins steered his visitor back toward his office and waited until he’d settled comfortably into the webbed wallcouch. “Tell me, Bus, have you applied for grants?”

  “Have I?” Farnam smiled wryly. “Damned application process. Takes forever just to hear the word no. And this late in the year, all we hear is no.”

  “This isn’t another magician’s trick like the one they tried to pull fifty years ago?” Hawkins said, gently goading. “You’ve done your homework? You’ve got the figures?”

  Farnam’s cheeks were bright pink with indignation. “Ethan, everything checks out. Believe me, if we got the funding, we’d give you cold fusion. And more.”

  “Quite a promise.” Hawkins opened a seamless ebony box, removed a self-lighting cigar, offered one to Farnam. “You say the silly research and development programs are getting all the bucks?” He leaned back in the floatchair and blew a smoke ring toward the Moon. “Such as the one you mentioned. What was that? Mutant flares?”

  Farnam’s laughter sounded forced. “Yeah. Crazy stuff. You know, those killer headaches mutants suffer from—”

  “The flares?” Hawkins leaned forward. His eyes never left Farnam’s face.

  “The same. Anyway, the theory now is they’re not generated by constricted blood vessels in the brain or hormonal imbalance. No. They’re caused by telepathic input that’s so compressed it’s impossible for the receiver to decode. And for nontelepathic mutants, the impact can be lethal.” He shrugged. “I offered to split her grant and build her a flare decoder.”

  Hawkins ignored the sally. “I thought there were drugs to deal with the flares and their effects.”

  “Sure. But nobody before Eva Seguy thought to try and ride them.”

  “Ride them?”

  “Yeah. Put the flare receiver to sleep and have a telepath tap in. There doesn’t seem to be any danger for the rider.”

  “Why bother with all this in the first place?”

  “Seguy’s convinced there’s precognitive information in the flares. And she’s got a crew of mutant telepaths at work deciphering the damn things. Wish she could tell me if cold fusion would get funding.”

  “Have they found anything yet?”

  “Not that I know of,” Farnam said sourly. “You sound awfully interested in her program.”

  Hawkins shrugged. “Mutants are peculiar. And I could use a few more up here to help me with some projects. Is this Dr. Seguy mutant?”

  “No. But she’s cute.” Farnam gave him a shrewd look. “Come down and check out the cold fusion program. I’ll introduce you to her.”

  “I don’t know, Bus. I just got back up here after that surgery. And I hardly ever make planetfall when I can avoid it.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fascinating. Well worth your time. Besides, I’ve got an invitation to a party, a sort of reunion of the old Shuttle Corps. Kelly McLeod’s throwing it at her spread near Denver.”

  “Kelly McLeod.” Hawkins shook his head. “Brings back memories. She was a first-rate pilot.”

  “I’m sure Kelly sent you an invitation.” Farnam smiled a little too brightly. “Have you given up parties?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Then come, Hawk. Catch up with folks. First, stop by the university. Then party.”

  Hawkins watched the bright face of the Moon pass slowly from view. “Tell you what. Make good on that introduction to the cute Dr. Seguy and I’ll say yes.”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll have the folks in our lab set up a demonstration.”

  Hawkins waved the suggestion away impatiently. “Don’t bother with all that.”

  Farnam gaped at him. “But—but—”

  “Relax, Bus. You’ve got the funding.”

  “What?” Farnam gaped at him, speechless.

  “I want to remember this moment,” Hawkins said. “Buster Farnam at a loss for words. Why didn’t I turn on my office cam?” He patted him on the back. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course.” Hawkins frowned. “When have you ever known me to fool around when it came to money? I’m serious, Bus. I’ve done some research and I’m convinced—your program deserves backing and I’ll see that you get it.”

  “Hawk, I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “It’ll be a good investment.” Hawkins’s stomach rumbled, always a sign that he was happy. He checked his watch, stood up. “Lunchtime. Let’s go see what I can offer you in the way of orbital cuisine.”

  ***

  Henley cut in on Rick and Alanna as the
Baked Satori mechband moved into its fourth song of the night at the Zeitgeist. Rick hesitated. His housemate had been begging for a dance ever since they’d gotten to the club. What the hell. He looked at Alanna and she nodded. With a shrug, he released her and went to lean against the bar.

  She had the right to dance with anyone she wanted, Rick reminded himself. And just about everybody he knew wanted to dance with her. Or so it seemed. Rick didn’t like to think of himself as possessive, but his gaze kept slipping back to Alanna. The copper neckpiece she wore glinted with red lights as she swayed to the beat.

  The music changed to a slow number and Rick watched coolly as Henley held Alanna close. They moved together for a minute. Then Alanna pulled back. She said something sharply, gave Henley a furious look, and strode off the dance floor toward Rick.

  “Don’t like the music?” he said.

  “That guy is a jerk,” Alanna said sharply. “He tried so hard to get under my dress that he nearly ripped right through it.”

  “Did he?”

  “Probably thought he could just slip his hands between the beads.” She frowned. “I’m not stupid enough to wear this without a spandex net underneath. Your friend should be grateful I didn’t put him through a window.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Rick said. “He probably doesn’t know how close he came to a Moon trip. But he’s not really used to being around mutant women.”

  And neither am I.

  She tossed her head. “He didn’t deserve any mercy. But I don’t like to pull mutant stunts in public. Besides, right now, we’re all living under one roof. But only temporarily, I hope. Come on, I want some fresh air.”

  The parking lot was jammed with skimmers and jet cycles. Alanna leaned against a Harley three-seater and pulled out a joy stick.

  “So this is where you hang?” Her expression let him know beyond a doubt what she thought of the club.

  “Yeah,” Rick bristled. “I like it. And my friends like it, too.”

  “I’m not surprised.”