Mutant Legacy (7 page)

“Do you think I enjoy doing this?” I said, and tears came to my eyes. “Turning against you? Against Rick? Do you think I would do it if I felt I had any choice, any other choice at all?”

“Why not leave it alone, son?” My father’s voice, as ever, was gentle.

“I can’t, Dad.” My voice shook, embarrassing me. “I wish I could. But this group that Rick has formed could be dangerous. I had hoped you would see that and support my side of this. But regardless of what you think, I have to do what I believe is best.”

“Even if it destroys Rick?” my mother asked.

“Even if it destroys him.”

She closed her eyes. When she opened them a moment later I saw tears glistening against the gold. “I love you, Julian. But if you hurt Rick, don’t come back here.”

“Melanie!” my father cried.

“Mom, you don’t mean that—”

“I do. I’m sorry, Julian. I hope you’ll fail.”

“And I hope that you’ll change your mind.” I grabbed up my jacket and started toward the door.

My father caught me outside as I got into my rental skimmer. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Give her some time to get accustomed to what’s happening.”

I hugged him fiercely, feeling gratitude and love. “Dad, I hope so.”

“You can reach me at the symphony during the day,” he said. “Or leave a message on e-mail at ni C e- Right.” He smiled a sad smile, the mender, the bridge-builder. “Stay in touch, no matter what.”

Boston was a welcome sight, even with its snow and chronic garbage strikes. I settled back into my counseling practice and allowed the gentle friction of regular routine, hospital rounds, and familiar faces to abrade my memories of family strife. Time passed, weeks, then months, and my clients made the expected degree of progress and regression, that endless therapeutic two-step.

It was a morning early in April, with the first hint of spring in the air and swelling purple buds dotting slender tree limbs. Boston, in April, seems to take a deep breath and come back to life, casting off its winter somnolence. The hiss and mutter of skimmers cutting through slush is exchanged for the sound of wheels against dry pavement, birds twittering in the morning sunlight, and children shouting their high-pitched exultation that spring has come once again.

I began dreaming of blue skies and water dotted by sailboats, of walks along the Charles in purple twilight, and red tulips waving from window boxes.

I was in the midst of a particularly busy day, reviewing a complex case on which I was consulting when Joachim Metzger came to see me at my office. He arrived sans retinue, in a plain blue stretch suit. He could have been a traveling rep for a drug supply house.

“Just the two of us?” I asked.

“I thought perhaps it would be easier if we met alone,” he said. “One on one.”

Metzger had a reputation as an ambitious man who favored the company of politicians, mutant and non. I could see why: he looked like a politician with that thick head of white hair and regal stature. He smiled broadly but I knew well enough that an engaging per
sona often hid implacable determination. Rumor had it that Metzger planned a career in politics. I had never before met a mutant who had entertained post-Book Keeper ambitions.

I invited him into my sanctum sanctorum. “Please, sit down,” I said, indicating the plushly upholstered sofa. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee, thanks. Black.”

I opened a small brown cabinet beside my desk. The coffeemech extruded a quikform mug and filled it, and I passed it to the Book Keeper. “If you had called first,” I said, “I might have had donuts as well.”

Metzger chuckled, but his smile faded as he got down to business. “About Rick—”

So that
was
why he had come. Of course. “I can’t believe that you couldn’t muster a vote to censure Better World,” I said.

Metzger looked distressed. “Yes, I know. But I have to be very careful. I’m supposed to be an unbiased facilitator, not a dictator, Julian.” He spread his hands upon the table. “Try to understand. I represent the oldest established faction of mutants in the world. We number at least two million on the Eastern Seaboard, three million throughout the country, and another million on the West Coast. It’s no secret that the majority of the Eastern Council members are plenty conservative. But that’s not true of every mutant: the Western Council has a tradition of liberalism that I must respect. However, what your brother is doing horrifies and alarms me.” His voice rose on the last word and now I caught a glimpse of steel behind the velvety bonhomie. “He has no authorization from us and he ignores the best interests of the mutants in favor of his own wild ideas. C wier aHe even chased away a delegation from the Western Council. Refuses to communicate with any of the designated mutant authorities. We would like to work with him. Peacefully. But he rejects our every overture.”

His implication was clear and I began to be frightened, both for my brother and all mutants. But I had to stay cool and pretend to be the pacific Dr. Akimura. “I know it’s frustrating. But threatening Rick won’t bring him back into the fold.”

“Who said anything about threatening?” Metzger was suddenly the genial, well-met fellow again. “We’re not threatening him, not in the slightest. In fact, we’d be happy for him to join us, even now. We’ve sent him repeated entreaties, but he’s refused every one while he pursued his own course.”

“But I thought he was willing to cooperate with the Mutant Council as long as it was on equal terms.”

“That’s not good enough,” Metzger said. “He must recognize our authority. By refusing to do so he’s forced our hands into opposition. Which is where you come in.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what role you foresee for me in all of this.”

“It’s simple, really.” His voice took on a pedantic tone. “If your brother were keeping a lower profile, just rescuing cats from trees or lost kids at county fairs, I’d say bravo. God knows we need more people interested in helping others. But your brother is getting too big for his own good. Or ours. It’s only a matter of time before he does something wrong and brings down the wrath of the entire society upon the heads of the mutants. So you must publicly oppose his actions at every opportunity.”

“You know I don’t trust what Rick is doing,” I said. “In fact, I hope to send him a personal message about my feelings, between the lines. But I’m not entirely comfortable with speaking out publicly against him, especially if he’s sincere in his intentions. And, frankly, Metzger, you sound a trifle paranoic to me. After all, the age of pogroms is long past.

Metzger bristled as though I had just kicked him. “
We
remember, Julian. We must. You young guys think that we’re safe because we’ve made it through almost a century without violence. But it can happen again at any time. We’re never safe. Never. Which is why we must always be on guard.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that Rick be hurt?”

To Metzger’s credit he looked genuinely uncomfortable. “Of course not. Of course not. That’s the last thing I want. We’re talking about organized opposition here, not violence.”

“I see.”

“Julian, I want to offer you a leading role in this.”

“Why not you?”

“It might splinter the entire mutant community if I’m seen actively opposing what a large segment seems already to support.”

“You mean Alanna’s faction?”

He nodded. “You know, of course, that Rick has not accepted her, either.”

“What?”

“She was turned away from Better World when she arrived. I hear she’s currently in Taos, attempting to reach your brother by any means possible.”

“Interesting. So he doesn’t want her, either.”

“ Cfy" trifJust you, it seems.”

I was heartened by that. Perhaps Rick was attempting to make a real fresh start. But I mistrusted his intent enough to agree with Joachim Metzger that he had to be stopped. Briefly, I wondered if Metzger was truly opposed to Rick’s cult on the grounds that it could hurt the mutants en masse or whether he was more concerned that Rick’s ascendancy might damage his own political plans. Regardless of his motivation, he was apparently on my side.

“You know,” he said, “I originally contacted you because I hoped you would have some suggestions for how to bring your brother to heel. But I see it’s not quite that easy. Nevertheless I’m sure we could work together, Julian.”

I stared at him, deeply ambivalent. In the same conversational tone of voice in which he might have invited me to a cocktail party Joachim Metzger had asked me to betray my own brother. Yet hadn’t I decided to do just that?

As I struggled with a momentarily unruly conscience Metzger pressed home his point. “You know that your brother puts us all at risk. Performing public sharings with nonmutants. What’s next? A vid ministry?” The Book Keeper made a grimace of distaste. “Do you know that we have had complaints from all over: the pope, from the Mormons, even the Episcopalians? And my contacts in government tell me that he is being watched. Closely.”

“You don’t have to recite chapter and verse to me,” I said. “The threat is clear enough. Rick’s actions put us all at risk.” And, I thought, forced me into odd alliances. “I’ll cooperate as long as we get one thing clear.”

“What’s that?”

“I refuse to allow any knowledge of my biological relationship to Rick to be revealed. I won’t do that to my parents. If word of it gets out, then I’m out, too.”

Joachim Metzger gave me a long, searching look. “Very well, Dr. Akimura,” he said, finally. “It will be as you wish. You will be a spokesman for the mutants without any mention of family ties. No one outside of the Mutant Council knows who Rick really is. Your secret will remain safe.”

bac
k
i
n
thos
e
days
I didn’t know Joachim Metzger
very well and what I did know I didn’t much like. But how often do wartime allies like each other? So I shook his hand and sealed our compact against my brother and against Better World.

A soft, three-chord chime interrupted my memories and brought me hurtling back to the present.

My message sim spoke in its gently asexual voice: “Forgive me, sir, for the intrusion. But you have a call.”

“Who is it?”

“Alanna.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t expected her to call back so quickly. Was I ready? Of course not.

“Put her through.”

My half-sister’s face appeared, ivory skin with just a touch of celadon, curiously unlined. Her dark hair was upswept, held in place by a thick green ribbon. She looked ageless, untouched by the years.

“Julian.” Her voice, at least, had grown deeper, throatier. “It’s been ye Ffy" tars.

“I never bothered to count.”

“Why break the silence now?”

“I need your help.”

“So you said. But what’s happened?”

“I’m not comfortable explaining it over the phone.”

“Don’t you have a privacy shield?”

“Yes, but I don’t trust it.”

“You’ve gotten paranoid, Julian.” Yet she was the one who looked suspicious and regarded me without trust.

“Can we meet?”

“Where? I won’t come to Taos.”

“Albuquerque, then.”

“Why don’t you come out to the West Coast?”

“No good. Too many people would come with me.”

“Can’t you just slip away?”

I laughed at the thought. “These days I can scarcely get enough privacy to go to the bathroom by myself.”

Alanna hardly blinked. “I don’t see why I should make a special trip to New Mexico. You know I only come out there once a year and I’m not due for months.”

“It’s only a half-hour shuttle ride,” I said. “If you like, I’ll buy your ticket.”

“Thank you, I can afford my own fare.”

“Then you’ll come?”

“No. Can’t it wait until my regular appearance?”

“Alanna, I need you. Right now. You’re the only one I can turn to. Now will you—goddammit—come and see me?”

For a moment her eyes widened in surprise at my vehemence. Otherwise, her implacable mask didn’t shift. But the urgency of my request seemed to have gotten through to her. “All right, Julian. All right. I’ll come.”

We agreed upon neutral territory: the private conference room at the old Albuquerque Inn on the edge of Old Town. I could shake off Barsi’s faithful watchdog protectiveness for a trip to the Old Town antique shops as long as I promised to check in regularly.

I went with misgivings, with irritation and fear simmering: a volatile stew. Alone, I blinked in the sunlight, as disconcerted as a vampire caught far from his coffin at daybreak.

The traffic whizzed past, far too noisy and much too fast. The shrieks of children playing set off a steady, throbbing ache above my left ear. Yes, it was the messy, discordant, uncontrolled world running its rampaging course around me. Momentarily I longed for my B.W. hideaway and its thick, protective walls.

I reserved the room—using a pseudonym, of course. It would never do for word to get around that one of the elders of Better World had emerged into the realm of lesser mortals without his handlers.

The room was cozy as conference rooms go: a domed adobe fireplace with holo fire tape and carefully concealed forced-air heater, Navajo eye-dazzler rugs in reds, greens, and browns, and a rough-hewn table surrounded by chairs with thick woven cushions.

I took the head seat, the only chair with arms, at the long oval table. I couldn’t decide if it wa Kcidn’t s real wood or merely a clever facsimile and was saddened that I could no longer tell. The chair was deceptively comfortable despite its rustic look and I leaned back gratefully.

“A small glass of Scotch with some ice,” I told the tablemech. Hypos had lost their appeal for me long ago and now I preferred to imbibe the old-fashioned way.

A mech waiter brought my cup of cheer, ice tinkling, in a sturdy, hand-blown glass.

“Happy days.” I toasted my brother’s ghost.

The Scotch was cool at first then warm as it went down, depositing strength and even a bit of courage. A good thing, too, because Alanna was suddenly in the room, her boot heels ringing loudly against the floor.

She wore emerald-green silk robes that whispered when she moved and she had two young nonmutant men with her. Between them stood a secmech.

“I thought we agreed to meet alone,” I said.

She glared at me, a flash of gold. “Wait outside, boys.”

“Take that mechanical secretary with you,” I said.

The secmech rolled out behind Alanna’s henchmen and Alanna joined me at the oval table. Oh, so carefully did we avoid each other’s eyes, until she tired of the standoff.

“You broke years of silence. Begged for this meeting,” she said. “I made a special trip. Now will you deign to tell me just what the emergency is?”

I looked at my sister, envying her eerie youthfulness—was she using antigeriatric treatments? I have turned silvery and pale, neither fleshy nor spare. But she was smooth-skinned, elegant, almost unchanged. Her hair was dark save for a spray of silver at the temple.

I gave her a grudging compliment. “Aging well may be the best revenge.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said. “How are you feeling these days?”

“Who feels all right when they’re seventy?”

“No complaints?”

“None that matter.”

“Well, then, what
is
the matter? I thought you were on your deathbed.”

“Is that why you raced out here? To gloat?”

“Don’t be silly.” She paused, eyeing me suspiciously. “I swore years ago that I would never speak to you again.”

“Understandable.”

“You’d know that more than most.”

“Touché.” I stared at her. She was ageless, magnificent even when poised in opposition against me. “I can’t get over it, Alanna. You really look fine.”

“You’ve already said that, and with the same degree of chagrin. Please, Julian, don’t start to tell me how good it is to see me after all these years. I’ll give you five minutes to tell me what’s on your mind. Get started.”

“I don’t know where to begin—”

She made a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I can’t believe that I actually fell for your ploy.”

“What do Kn>h="you mean?”

“There’s no emergency, is there?” Her eyes flashed. “You just wanted to drag me out here. This is just one last power play to amuse yourself. You’ve resorted to false alarms in your dotage.” She began to rise out of her chair.

“Sit down,” I said. “Oh, sit down, Alanna, for God’s sake. I’m sorry, all right? I’ll get to the point.”

“Good.”

“I’m afraid that I’m losing control of Better World.”

She sat down with a thump that must have rattled even her well-preserved bones. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s pretty obvious: a lot of decisions are made first and then I hear about them. Discussions around me. Meetings without me. I don’t like it, not at all.”

“I can see why that would trouble you. But you shut me out so long ago,” she said, “why come to me now?”

“I think the only way to beat this is a united effort by the two people who knew Rick best.”

Alanna didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t give any sign that the mention of our brother’s name caused her the slightest bit of discomfort. The years seem to have worn her smooth as a river-washed stone. There was no flaw, no place on her for me to grab hold of and gain a footing. She merely sat there, staring at me.

Her lack of reaction infuriated me. “Aren’t you concerned? Losing Better World will destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

“Calm down, Julian, you’re getting hysterical.” Alanna was placid, almost amused. Her words were cool, her face composed. But plunging through her mind I spied the image of Better World burning like a comet, crashing, falling into a thousand pieces on the floor of some terrible canyon. What’s worse, I sensed her pleasure at the image. She wanted it to crash, crash and burn.

Alanna selected an apple from the basket on the table and sat before me, calmly peeling it with her sharp telekinetic skills. The fruit bobbed between us in midair, shedding its red skin in lazy whorls to reveal crisp ivory flesh beneath. Alanna took a bite, chewed carefully. And as she chewed, a tiny smile curved her lips upward.

I imagined the grinning skull beneath her skin. Grinning as it sat on a shelf in a museum. “A fine example of a late twenty-first-century carnivore,” the mechcurator would say. “The only type known to devour its own kind.” The skull smirked at me and I wanted to knock it from the shelf, to smash it into a thousand bone fragments.

Delusional thinking, a quiet voice in my head informed me. A clear sign of stress.

In real time an eternity of seconds ticked loudly in the silent room as I stared at Alanna.

“So you’d murder the whole thing by neglect, wouldn’t you?”

Alanna stopped smiling. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t realize that murder was a trait that ran right through our family.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I’ve misjudged you completely.”

She stood. “I’m going to call the medics and get you a sedative.”

“And just maybe the dosage will be too strong?” I cast a mental image at her of vidnews headl Kvidbasket ines:
“Desert Prophet’s Brother Dies. Foul Play Suspected.”
“Is that really what you want?”

“Stop it, Julian.”

“I just want you to be honest with me.”

My sister’s face was livid, her calm assured mask ripped to shreds. “How dare you probe me! Stay out of my head. This is the second time you’ve accused me of murder.”

“Don’t you give a damn about Better World?”

“It’s too late,” she said. “You should have come to me years ago. I don’t want to have anything to do with the church now. I can’t help you, Julian. And I won’t.”

“Is this revenge, Alanna? For my cruelty? My ruthlessness?”

But even that failed to prick her. She gave me a sad, tired smile. “Oh, stop playing games with me, Julian. I’m no longer so ambitious. I’ve gotten older, too, don’t you see? I just plain don’t care.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe whatever you wish. I don’t care about
that
, either.”

Before I could blow upon the faint ember of her disdain she was on her feet and at the door.

Desperately, I tried to stop her. “Don’t you think Rick would want you to help me?”

“Please don’t mention him to me again.” Her voice was husky, almost a whisper, and her glance convinced me that she really, truly hated me. But she mastered herself quickly and the heat receded from her gaze until all I saw was lukewarm dislike glazed with gold.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said. “I suppose I should wish you luck. I think you’ll need it.” And with that, my sister left me to the comfort of the lonely room, the flickering holo fire, and the company of old, old ghosts.

In the days that followed I could not work, could not sleep. Old memories and doubts I had long thought dead rose up to torment me.

Although I’ve often considered myself a patient man, now I grew restless and irritated. I scheduled extra sharings to relieve the stress, but even that comfort was only fleeting, and I was getting too old, too tired to hold more than three sharings a week, regardless of my need.

Age surprises everyone with its gradual limitations. I’ve tried to tell myself that I’ve grown accustomed to the shortened attention span, limited energy, and unreliable memory. But one can never quite grow accustomed to the machine running down and beginning to fail. I’ve tried to take it gracefully. I haven’t always succeeded in the attempt.

One of the greatest frustrations for me was the effect of age on my memory. I’ve found gaps where formerly there were solid walls. And so, if, occasionally, I’ve reframed a sequence or missed a beat, it was only because the fugitive data winked, teasing me. But the past provided consolation, yes it did. I returned to my memories eagerly.

Once I knew where Rick was, my twinsense itched and ached like a sprained muscle. I stayed away, though, buried my head in routine, and tried not to think about him. Not that I didn’t see Rick. Oh, I saw him all right.

One evening I got home early, popped the top on a self-cooling red jack, turned on the vid, and leaned back on the floatsofa.

The vid, set to random dial, scrolled through the channels. Suddenly a familiar image flashed by.

“Stop!”

A man with a dark beard, desert tan, and long hair pulled back tightly behind his head was facing the camera and speaking seriously, earnestly. It was Rick. He was dressed in white and his golden eyes were hypnotic, like huge pools of light.