Mutant Star

by Karen Haber

  “I can see you feel anger,” Sigma said. “What’s that all about?”

  “I guess I feel betrayed. By Rick. I trusted him.”

  “Let’s look at that a little more closely,” Sigma said.

  Alanna twirled a strand of hair between thumb and forefinger. “I thought he wanted to settle down. Get serious. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe he wasn’t ready.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “He must have been scared.” Alanna stopped fidgeting. “He loves me so much he didn’t know how to tell me he was nervous.”

  Sigma smiled approvingly. “And now?”

  “I miss Rick. I thought I’d never want to see him again, but I keep wondering what he’s doing, if he’s seeing anybody else, if he misses me.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I—I want to see him. To talk to him. Despite everything, I still love him.”

  “Then perhaps you should follow through on that,” Sigma said. A clock chimed softly. “Your five minutes are up. Do you have anything else you’d like to discuss? If so, you can be billed later.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Very well.” Sigma beamed. “I’m glad we had the chance to talk. A printout of our conversation is available below the screen. Thank you for choosing Five-Minute Shrink.” Sigma’s smiling image dimmed, the screen went opaque, and the door to the cubicle slid open.

  The transcript of the session extruded from the wall like a pale tongue. Alanna tore it off, pocketed it, and left the Shrink cubicle.

  With a whoosh of forced air, the central Marin train pulled into the station. Alanna ran for the nearest open compartment.

  When she got home, the house was empty. There was a message on her roomscreen.

  Rick called. Will try again 4:30.

  The screen clock said 4:15

  Alanna watched it click to 4:29. 4:30. 4:35.

  At ten minutes to six, she was in a fury. With a yank on the cord, she disabled the message circuit on her line. When, an hour later, the phone chimed, she ignored it. It rang and rang. Then it stopped.

  .

  ******************

  8

  The soft pink crylights along the ceiling cast a flattering glow onto the faces of the guests assembled in the Ryton living room. The whisper of jazz came from wall speakers: a muted percussion and mellowed strings. “Moron music,” Rick’s father called it, but it was pleasant background noise for a party. Rick listened to its lulling rhythms and tried to relax.

  The room was filled with aging space jockeys: a quieter crowd than he had expected. Most of the people here were gray-haired and dignified, their hell-raising long past. What would they think of a newly emerged mutant in their midst? What would Kelly and Michael think?

  He looked at the table laden with tidbits. A plate piled high with choba rolls caught his attention and his stomach growled with sudden hunger. To his horror, the entire platter began to lift upward.

  No. No. No.

  The plate settled with an audible clink. Across the room, Kelly looked up suddenly, her hostess’s instincts aroused. For a moment her eyes met his. Then she shrugged and turned back to her guests.

  Close. Too close. Got to watch it. Rick grabbed a beer and took a healthy swallow.

  Kelly looks wonderful. What’s her secret? Marriage to a mutant?

  The voice was loud in his ear.

  Rick spun around. He was alone in the corner—a gray-haired man with long sideburns and a nose reddened by liquor was the only person nearby.

  Wonder if Michael can float me a loan?

  This time the voice was a rough baritone. Rick took a hurried gulp of beer.

  I’m losing my mind, he thought. Hearing things.

  Maybe he should tell his aunt and uncle what was happening. But what would they say when he told them he was hearing things? Maybe what he needed was a nice long rest in a padded room under a healer’s care.

  “Lovely party,” a woman said. She was fortyish, with straight white hair and a strong, well-defined body partially covered by a short gold wrap. She eyed Rick with unmistakable interest. “Do you work with Mike?”

  “Uh, no. I mean yes, I mean, do you?” Rick told himself to smile. Try to look normal. Whatever that was.

  “No. My husband did, before Mike became Senator Greenberg’s best friend in Washington.” She gave him a knowing look.

  Rick wondered briefly what she was talking about. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “I wonder how Kelly stands him jetting off to Washington for all those tête-à-têtes,” the woman said.

  As she talked, Rick could see an image forming of his uncle Michael and an ample-figured, red-haired woman kissing. It floated in front of him, as real as the wall-screen to his left. Rick gaped. But there was something wrong with the vision. Something malicious and false. He could sense it. And he was about to tell the woman that when his hand slipped on his beer. The image vanished. Rick tried to catch the glass but succeeded only in splashing the woman’s golden wrap. The fabric hissed briefly, faded, and became transparent. The rest of her was even more muscular than he’d imagined.

  “God, I’m sorry,” Rick said. He grabbed a soak-up from the pile on the table and handed it to her, hoping she’d hurry to repair the damage.

  Instead, she smiled, showing strong white teeth. “Your aim is stupendous.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Rick found his voice.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for the bathroom.” He strode away from that carnivorous smile and ducked into the front hallway.

  Nice crowd, a familiar bass voice boomed in Rick’s head. Lovely home. Kelly seems to have done well for herself.

  That’s not somebody speaking, Rick thought. I’m hearing someone think. Someone I know. He scanned the room. A tall, handsome black man was standing with Kelly. Of course. Ethan Hawkins. The man who’d addressed the Mutant Council. Hawkins and his aunt had been in the Shuttle Corps together. Hawkins looked up, met his eye, and smiled in recognition.

  Akimura. Rick. The other brother. The null. Ought to go over and say hello.

  Yes, Rick thought. Come on over and say hello to the null. Maybe you’ll get a surprise.

  Wonder if he knows anything about the lab work. No, he’s not capable of riding the flares. A pity. Getting both brothers involved might speed up the program.

  Program? Rick wondered if Hawkins was thinking about the same program that Julian was working with in Berkeley. Was this telepathy? Clairaudience? It was getting interesting. Hawkins seemed to be broadcasting on a narrow band right to him.

  And here he comes, Rick thought.

  “Rick Akimura, isn’t it?” Hawkins shook his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Michael is my mother’s brother.”

  “I see.” Hmmm. Should I tell him about the lab program? “Speaking of brothers. I saw yours. Yesterday. Took a tour of the lab facilities at Berkeley—quite impressive.” Hawkins grinned. “I’m convinced they’re going to have remarkable results from that program. Perhaps unlock the keys to the future.”

  “I just thought it was some kind of scientific mumbo jumbo.”

  “Not at all.”

  In Hawkins’s mind, Rick could see the image of a space station glowing, floating above a reddish planet. And a woman with green eyes and red hair, dressed in a diaphanous gown. What was that all about?

  “I understand your skepticism, Rick, but you really should ask your brother about the program. I believe that through it, he’s going to be quite famous one day.”

  Rick smiled at the words, but felt an uneasiness settling in—Julian famous. Yes, Julian would be famous. Suddenly he was convinced. A vision sprang up in which his brother was standing before a crowd, making a speech. What was it? A Nobel Prize acceptance? Pulitzer? Hawkins was right. Rick didn’t know how, but he was convinced of it.

  Hawkins was staring at him. “Do you feel all right?”

  Rick could feel the sweat gathering on his bro
w. “Uh, just a little hot, I think. Maybe I’ll step outside to cool down.” With a quick, apologetic smile, he cut through the crowd and out into the crystalline night.

  The air was cool on his fevered skin. These new skills were unnerving.

  He strode down the street, breathing the crisp air in huge gulps, enjoying the shock of the cold to his system. He was pleasantly chilled but not uncomfortable. It had to be below freezing outside, yet all he felt was a pleasant coolness through his shirt. It was invigorating. A rush of energy filled him. The stars twinkled above. Why not?

  Up, he thought. Up. Up. Up.

  Muscles coiled. He was feverish, glowing with exertion. A running start and yes, he was aloft, nerves screaming. Whoa, watch that lamppost. He veered to avoid a collision and soared higher, high above the pavement, floating over the rooftops, over the trees, up into the frosty air until the houses below were dwarfed and toylike. Steady. Steady now.

  The tiny matchbox houses below. How puny. He felt as if he could scatter the buildings with one kick. One kick. High above him he saw the blink of airline lights. Should he float up there and give the pilot a scare? Fear gave way to intoxication as Rick soared through the nighttime sky. He came to rest atop a three-story condominium. Then he pushed off, up and out, into the dark air again. Laughing, he leaned back and somersaulted in midair.

  It was fun! Being a mutant was fun. That was the secret they’d all tried to keep from him. But now he knew it.

  The moon was a cold white marble above. The yellow lights of the houses glowed below. He swooped down until he was eye level with the street lamps, then dashed away up and out until he could see the distant glow of downtown Denver with its winter domes and forced-air walkways: a city defending itself against a climate that Rick didn’t even feel.

  It was more than fun to be a mutant. It was better: better than being normal. He knew that, now, too.

  Eventually he grew tired of the cold and dark. The party beckoned below: warm lights, good food. He was ready to make chitchat now, eager, even, to be sociable. He landed easily, gracefully, on the walk leading up to the main house. Right in front of Ethan Hawkins.

  “I came out for a little fresh air myself,” Hawkins said. He regarded Rick thoughtfully. “That was quite a display of telekinesis. Especially for a dysfunctional mutant. I thought nulls couldn’t fly.”

  Rick’s cheeks grew hot. Hawkins had literally caught him in midair. “I guess there’ve been a few changes made since I saw you.” He started to walk past Hawkins into the house.

  “Wait …”

  Rick spun on his heel. “Why, Colonel? Am I suddenly more interesting? As long as I have a few powers, you’d like to talk to me? Would you care to see a few levitation tricks? Perhaps you’d like me to fly you to the Moon?” His smile sharpened into a near grimace. He hadn’t realized until now just how angered he’d been by Hawkins’s snub at the Mutant Council meeting.

  Hawkins held up his hands. “I never meant to offend, Rick. If I did, I’m truly sorry. And I remind you that I invited you to visit me. I meant it. And I’ll go a step further. How’d you like a job?”

  “I’ve got a job.”

  “I’ll pay you triple your salary.”

  “You don’t know what I make. What I do.”

  “I don’t care.” Hawkins’s eyes gleamed. “I need powerful telekinetics to build my new pavilion. Right away. If you’re game, I promise you an adventure you won’t forget.”

  Rick hesitated. Hawkins thought he was some kind of magical mutant. But what if these powers were temporary? What if he woke up tomorrow, a regular null again?

  Hawkins grasped his shoulder. “Space, Rick. The future of humankind. You were interested before. Say you’re interested now.”

  Rick could read the ferocious ambition in the man’s mind. And he could see the image of that space station, spinning in the great vacuum. But he had hardly had a chance to get acquainted with his new skills, much less commit them to someone else’s use. And he was too proud, too confused, to jump at Hawkins’s offer. “I don’t think so, Colonel.”

  Hawkins’s grip tightened. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “Perhaps.” Rick brushed Hawkins’s hand away. “But I’ve got business to attend to here.” He wanted to see Alanna, suddenly. Had to see her, as soon as possible.

  “Don’t play games, Rick. Say the word. I’ll get you clearance on any Moon shuttle.”

  Rick wavered. He could make enough money on this job to buy a place for him and Alanna. Without any help from her parents. But no, he couldn’t just cave in this way. Wouldn’t. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long,” Hawkins said. He glanced toward the open door. “Well, I’d better get back to your aunt’s party. Join me?”

  “In a little while. You go ahead.” Rick watched Hawkins move confidently into the crowd. He wanted to like him, to trust him, but Hawkins’s arrogance got in the way. To him mutants were just a freakish labor pool.

  Rick took a step toward the door but he was driven back by the party noise: chatter and music swirled around him, echoing oddly. The room was too brightly lit and full of strangers. He wanted to be alone, away from here. Coming to Denver was a mistake.

  He turned his back on the warmth and noise, hurried to his room, and turned on the messagescreen.

  “Kelly,” he said. “Michael. Look, I’m sorry to leave so soon. Your party was infinite. Unsurpassed, really. Thanks for inviting me.” He paused, wanting to say more, to explain, somehow. “I needed the break. Guess you’ll think I’m nuts leaving so soon. Maybe I am. But I’ve got to get back. So thanks again. Bye, Mari.”

  Rick shut the screen down. Grabbed his gear. Outside, he hesitated for a moment. No cycle. He couldn’t borrow a skimmer. It was too late for a taxi. What the hell. Denver was south. He’d find it, somehow. He shouldered his bag and stepped up into the cool air.

  ***

  The morning sky was gray and overcast, dense with fog. The sun cast murky, diffused light through the lab windows. Inside, Julian gazed blearily at the figures marching across his screen, trying to comprehend them.

  Ten flare rides. Eight sightings of his brother.

  What did it mean?

  Julian had checked the reports of the other flare riders but found nothing unusual, nothing to support his data, no sign of Rick.

  His screen clock chimed softly. Ten-thirty. He was due to go on-shift. Time to saddle up.

  When he got to the lab, Julian found Tom Cole hurrying down the hall. Cole usually took the first shift in the morning.

  “Tom,” Julian said. “How’d the ride go?”

  Cole’s golden eyes looked bleary. “Not bad. A quick image here, a quick image there.”

  “Anything memorable?”

  “A woman walking across a hallway. And then, a spaceplane crashing. But nothing to peg it to.” Cole shook his head. “I’m beat. See you around.”

  Julian put on his lab coat and peered into the test area. Karla Rogers was already asleep on her couch, snoring gently. Rogers was a tall, spare, gray-haired mutant in her fifties. He had only been paired with her once before.

  Julian hooked himself up, placing the microphone at a comfortable angle.

  Relax, he thought. Your hands are trembling. You’re a scientist. He took a deep breath and plunged directly into the heart of a nightmare.

  A hot wind howled through the ragged canyons of an anonymous city. Ragged figures shambled across the dark landscape, lit only by flickering yellow flames. In and out of the dancing shadows moved gray, desperate faces. Eyes glazed with misery and pain, the people staggered and fell, crouched whimpering in skeletal doorways, ran screaming in wordless hysteria. A row of buildings burned out of control. Perhaps the entire city was aflame. Here, a child cried uncontrollably, and in the distance, a woman was shrieking. But overriding all sounds was a high, fierce, maniacal laughter. It came from a man perched like some oversized gnome upon a purple-black mushroom cloud. Skerry?
No. The face shifted. It was Narlydda. Alanna. Rick.

  Rick, yes.

  He was walking. His arms were manacled behind his back and he was being forced to march toward a building with barred windows. Surrounded by men in military uniforms. Kicking and punching, they shoved him into a cell and bolted the door. He sank to his knees, howling like a wild beast. His voice was hoarse, ragged, and still he screamed. Then he began to slam his head against the hard boards of the door. Julian flinched each time he did it.

  “Alanna,” Rick cried. Blood masked his face in jagged patterns. A gory jack-o’-lantern. “Alanna.”

  Julian tore the headset and mike away. His back was drenched with sweat.

  “Julian?” Eva’s voice was a faint whisper from the earphones. “What’s wrong?”

  A moment later she was kneeling beside him, holding his hand, listening as he told her, voice choked, what he had seen.

  “This recurrence of your brother’s image,” Eva said. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “What you mean is you don’t think I’m being objective enough,” Julian said. “You think I’m skewing the results. Being too emotional.”

  “Calm down.” Her voice was gentle. “I just think you may be more impressionable than other riders. Maybe it’s time for you to sit behind the desk awhile and let somebody else do the riding.”

  “Dammit, Eva. Why can’t you see that there’s something strange going on surrounding my brother? I’ve had horrendous visions of him: scenes of war and madness.”

  “Even if any of these are right, we’re not here to prophesy your brother’s future,” Eva said. “We’re here to document the content of each flare. Regardless of what it means.”

  “And if I can’t do it without getting concerned, I’m invited to get off the couch?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Julian stared at her in fury. Nothing came before the program with Eva. Not her private life. Certainly not their love affair.

  “Perhaps you should take a break,” she said. Her tone was soft, persuasive. “We have other riders. Ever since Ethan Hawkins came to visit you’ve been, well, grim.”

  “Coincidence. You know I couldn’t stay away. From the lab. From you.”