Mutant Star (6 page)

She turned to go.

He grabbed her hand. Pulled her to him. Sank down on the soft, leaf-covered hillside.

“Hey!”

“Changed my mind,” he said.

She giggled. “Good.”

And then neither of them spoke.

***

Julian watched a group of kids practice levitation by the side door of the auditorium. They bounced up and down, kicking off from the ceiling and walls, giggling and shrieking with excitement. An occasional rebuke from a nearby adult quieted them for a moment. But nothing could restrain their high spirits for long. Julian didn’t mind their tumult.

When he was younger, Council meetings had been his only chance to play with other mutant children, and the only time when he hadn’t felt slightly odd about his mutant powers. He watched the children romp now with a mixture of envy and nostalgia: none of them had grown up in a family of nulls and nonmutants. None of them would ever contend with a null twin brother envious of their power. Mutant ability—or lack of it—might have created a thick barrier between Julian and Rick if not for twinsense, their special link.

“Julian, what did you think of Hawkins’s presentation?”

His aunt Narlydda, wearing a lavender stretch suit, peered down at him from her regal height.

He shrugged. “Just another panhandler after our talent.”

“That’s cynical.”

“But realistic. And I’ll bet you feel the same way,” Julian said.

“I won’t give you any argument there.” Her eyes sparkled. “Of course, I have cause to feel a bit more warmly toward the colonel. After all, he saved my life, and Skerry’s. Not to mention that of your mother and father.”

“Yes, I know. I’m waiting for my father to set it to music: the Ballad of the Long Rescue.” Julian ran his fingers over imaginary synthesizer keys. “Besides, I thought
you
really saved everybody. Didn’t you keep them in an oxygen field until Hawkins and company arrived to scoop you all up?”

Narlydda smiled. “Something like that. Well, then I suppose you’re immune to space fever.”

“I hope so,” Julian said. “I’ve got plans on Earth. Sometimes I think my crazy brother would be happier in orbit. Escape velocity seems like just Rick’s speed. But it’s not for me.”

“Tell me about your brave new world at the lab. How goes the flare research?”

Julian hesitated. He didn’t really want to talk about the work he was doing. But he didn’t want to be rude, either.

“It’s very interesting,” he said. “I’ve only seen one image so far.”

“What kind?”

“A woman, dressed in white.”

“What does that mean? Did you recognize her?”

“No,” Julian said. “And I don’t want to interpret it. We’ve got a lot of theories about the possible precognitive content of flares, but not much to go on. Yet.”

Narlydda shook her head. “I always thought that was flap-doodle. Wishful thinking by a bunch of mutant scientists.”

“It’s not wishful thinking.” Julian’s voice was louder than he’d intended. But Narlydda had nettled him.

“You mean they’ve proved that there’s true precognitive material available through the flares?”

“Not exactly.”

She flashed him a triumphant look. “I thought so.”

“I’m sure we’ll decode the content of the flares eventually.”

“Don’t get offended, Julian.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Regardless of what it all means, I’m sure it’s fabulous to see. In fact, I’d love to take a stab at it.” Her eyes were glittering suddenly.

Julian looked away. “Only telepaths can read the flares.”

“Oh.” She gave him an ironic smile. “What a shame. Well, I guess you aren’t afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of the flares.”

“Why should I be? Somebody else has them. I just ride them telepathically.”

“To me, flares always meant pain and madness.”

“Maybe to your generation and those before you,” Julian said. “But now we have drugs to control them.” He shifted from one foot to another, suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, I know my grandfather died from the flares, but that was before Percolin and the other dampers were invented. No, I’m not afraid of flares.”

“Good. I wish I shared that feeling.” Narlydda shivered delicately, “Be careful, Julian.”

“Don’t worry.”

“That’s an aunt’s prerogative.” She smiled. “And please keep me informed of your progress. The aesthetic possibilities in this sound intriguing. Maybe someday nontelepaths will get a peek into the flares, too. But right now, I think Guindelle’s about to reconvene.” She paused, and her smile disappeared. “I do hope your brother decides to rejoin us soon.”

But Rick did not return. Nor did Alanna.

The cry went out: “Call to order.”

Everyone took their seats.

“Ready for the vote?”

The crowd answered affirmative.

The tally went quickly, without any surprises. Vincent Guindelle triumphed over Paula Byrne and was elected Book Keeper for the Western Mutant Council. He accepted with a few grateful remarks.

Byrne conceded less graciously. She stormed to the podium, her black robes flying, her white hair bobbing around her head like a low cloud. “I’d hoped you’d learned,” she said. “But the erosion of values, of traditions, continues. When will you see the error of your ways? Return to the Book. Before it’s too late! Cast out the outsiders or lose your heritage.”

“Sit down, Paula!”

“Better yet, go home.”

Did she really think she ever had a chance?

We should throw her out. She’s crazy. Wants to turn the Book into some sort of religion. Nonbelievers! Where does she think she is?

“You saw the vote. See you later. Or never.”

“She won’t be happy until she infects the entire mutant community with her paranoid ideas.”

To the mocking chorus of shouts and mindspeech, Paula Byrne strode from the hall followed by five or six of her faithful.

“Now come to order,” Vincent Guindelle called. “Quiet. We must have quiet.”

The catcalls subsided.

“The work of the artist Narlydda is well known,” Guindelle said. “And we are honored to have her among us. Today she has brought us a rare gift to hang in the Council hall.”

A bulky parcel floated toward the podium. As Julian watched, the wrapping began to smolder. Yellow and green flames lapped eagerly at the padding protecting the artwork, enveloping it as bronze sparks shot high into the air.

The audience gasped.

Smoke covered the stage. But a hurricane wind came shrieking out of the balcony to clear the air, revealing Narlydda’s three-panel sculpture hung neatly on the wall behind the Book Keeper. The work glowed with bronze, blue, and purple crylights, its glazing refracting and reflecting every hue.

“Bravo, Narlydda!”

“And Skerry, too!”

Beautiful, just beautiful.

Speech! Come on, say something
.

But Narlydda shook her head.

The pandemonium rose. Finally, Skerry sent out a mental warning:
Narlydda never makes speeches. Besides, her work speaks for itself. So listen to that instead and settle down. Or we’ll take it home.

Amid laughter, the meeting began to break up in a cheerful hubbub of chatter and dinner plans. But when Julian joined the little group consisting of his parents and Narlydda and Skerry, he saw that his uncle wasn’t smiling.

“Melanie, I’m going to break your son’s neck for him,” Skerry rasped.

“Be quiet,” Narlydda said. She smiled frostily at her husband. “What he really means to say is he’s hungry.”

“What’s the matter?” Melanie said. “Where’s Rick? Where’s Alanna? I thought …” She glanced around the room. “Uh-oh.”

Skerry frowned. “I second that emotion.”

“Julian,” Yosh said. “Weren’t you going to tell us all about your lab work?”

“Dad, you’re a little late,” Julian said. Where was Rick? Had he run off? Uncle Skerry looked like he was about to explode.

“Melanie, let’s go back to the hotel,” said Yosh. “Skerry and Narlydda can meet us for dinner in half an hour. If Rick isn’t back by then, I say the hell with him. I’ve got an early rehearsal tomorrow morning.”

“You go ahead,” Melanie said. “I’ll wait.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Yosh said.

Julian took her arm. “He’s right, Mom. You don’t even know if Rick is coming back.”

His mother’s face was defiant. “He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to me.”

“Mom, be reasonable. It gets lonely here at night. Put a message on the screen by the door. He knows where we’re staying.” He shook her gently. “Come on.”

Melanie frowned. “Oh, all right. Let’s go.”

As they walked toward the door Rick came bustling in. He stopped short, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Meeting over?”

“Of course it is,” Melanie said sharply. “Your timing is perfect, as usual.”

“Sorry. I was, uh, delayed.” His look of mystery changed to chagrin as Alanna slipped in and stood next to him.

“I got lost in the woods,” she said. “Rick helped me find my way out.” She smiled at Rick in a way that Julian found amusing, but somehow, he didn’t think anyone else would share his glee.

“So chivalry is not dead,” Melanie said.

Skerry took a step forward. His face was deep red. “Alanna, I want to talk to you.”

“Later, Daddy.”

“Alanna,” Yosh said quickly, “would you like to ride with us to the hotel? Your folks are going to meet us …”

“I’ll bring her on my cycle,” Rick said. “Julian won’t mind riding with Mom and Dad. I know he’ll feel safer.”

Julian forced a laugh. “That’s the truth.”

“Oh, okay,” Alanna said. “Then we’ll see you at the hotel.” She and Rick were out the door before anybody could respond.

Narlydda turned to Skerry. “Not one more word, or I’ll make you the subject of my next altarpiece.”

In the skimmer, Melanie shook her head in admiration. “That Alanna’s got style.”

“I’d call it nerve,” Yosh said. “And considering her heritage, she comes by it honestly.”

“Maybe Rick will get smart and just keep on going,” Julian said.

“To Los Angeles,” Yosh added.

“Or South America.”

Melanie sighed. “I almost hope he does. Otherwise, I’m going to alert hotel security. I don’t want Skerry to kill him right in front of me.”

***

The Hedgehog’s dining room glowed with soft pink and yellow crylights. The soothing sound of strings flowed from the wall speaker. But the group at the table was tense and awkward.

Alanna chewed her meal without tasting it. Her father would neither look at nor talk to her. But Aunt Melanie seemed determined to make up for his silence.

“Alanna,” she said, “your mother tells me you’ve been accepted at Radcliffe.”

“That’s right.” Alanna stabbed a piece of calamari and regarded it carefully, avoiding her aunt’s gaze.

“Why, that’s wonderful. You must be so happy. Are you looking forward to school?”

“Yes,” Alanna said. “It should be very interesting.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Well—”

“Of course she is,” Narlydda said. “Alanna’s work impressed the entire admissions panel at Whitlock. They told me how eagerly they’re looking forward to having her in the program.”

“Now we know how Whitlock feels,” Yosh said. “But how do you feel about them, Alanna?” His gentle smile was encouraging.

Alanna wanted to tell him that she felt uncertain, confused, anything but confident. Uncle Yosh might actually understand her ambivalence. But her mother was watching her closely. Alanna knew what was expected of her. She summoned a bright false smile. “I’m really excited,” she said. “It’s a marvelous opportunity and I’m lucky to have it.” She waited for applause. Certainly that was an award-winning performance. And sure enough, everybody around the table was nodding and smiling. Everyone except her father. He had turned to look at her now and his expression was skeptical, almost mocking. She gazed down at her plate, away from the cold fury in his eyes.

Beside her, Rick kept eating, oblivious to the conversation. A friendly warmth radiated from the spot where his leg pressed against hers. Suddenly she wished they were both back out on that hillside under the stars.

“Yosh,” her mother said. “When is the premiere of your Red Planet song-cycle?”

“Next month,” he said. “And I’m scoring the traveling exhibition of holovids from the Hubble III and IV.”

Alanna saw Rick begin to slump in his seat, sleepy with food and sex and drink. Did he think he could just ignore her now that he was satisfied? A sly telekinetic tweak between the legs straightened his spine. He sat up, eyes bulging, and turned to her.

“Alanna, you are really pushing your luck,” he whispered. “I’m warning you, don’t play mutant games with me.”