The Mutant Prime (11 page)

“That means you don’t like it.”

Tavia Emory’s eyes widened.

She’s not accustomed to people being blunt with her. Good. Narlydda smiled sweetly.

Tavia opened her mouth to reply. But a high, tenor voice stopped her.

“A guest, Tavia? Are you going to introduce me?”

It was Ashman, the supermutant. Dressed in a flowing white robe, his silvery-blond hair and silver eyes burning with odd light, he looked like an apparition from out of the desert—or somebody’s dreams.

“I imagine you already know who I am,” Narlydda said dryly. “And I certainly know who you are.”

His smile was huge. “Narlydda. I’m so glad you’ve come.” With a child’s enthusiasm, he turned toward Tavia Emory. “Oh, Tavia. I knew
she
wouldn’t be afraid of me.” He grabbed the artist’s hand. “We’re going to have such a good time.”

“We are?” She allowed him to squeeze her fingers for a moment, then gently withdrew her hand from his. “I guess you mean the reception—”

“Yes, of course,” Tavia cut in. She seemed a bit flustered. “Tomorrow night. But we can talk about that later. I’m sure Narlydda would like to relax after her trip.”

“That would be pleasant.” Narlydda was eager to be alone, away from the odd tension in the room. She watched gratefully as Tavia Emory summoned an assistant to convey their guest of honor to her room.

“We’ll see you tonight, at dinner,” Tavia said.

“I look forward to it.”

Ashman was silent.

As she left the room, Narlydda saw the supermutant and Tavia lock gazes.

They remind me of the mongoose and the cobra, she thought. But which is which?

Michael set his white collar tabs in place, surveyed his image in the hotel room mirror, and nodded. He looked professional, somber, and, he hoped, innocent. He was scheduled to testify in an hour. Time for a quick bite, although his appetite was minimal.

The door buzzed. Probably the room service mech.

But when he slid the door open, a young woman in a red silk tunic stood there, leaning against the bell. She had straight, silky dark hair, blue eyes, and looked vaguely Oriental.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“A fine greeting for your own sister,” she said crisply and pushed past him into the room.

“Melanie?!”

He spun around. She was sitting on the corner of the bed, smiling a nervous half-smile.

“Melanie!” He grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “Gods, how long has it been?”

“Who’s counting?” Her voice was muffled. “And could you ease up a bit on the hug? I think I’m suffocating.”

He pulled back. “I see that working in video news has turned you into a wise ass.” She looked wonderful. So poised, so stylish. The years had sanded away all traces of the awkward younger sister he remembered. He grinned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m part of the team covering this circus for Cable News. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you were scheduled for center ring today.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Uh, the clerk at the information desk told me.” Why did her voice sound hollow suddenly? Well, no matter.

“Despite the circumstances, I’m really glad to see you. You look wonderful. Even with blue eyes.”

“Thanks.” She stood back, staring at him. “Wish I could say the same for you.” Gently, she brushed his hair back into place. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week. Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Can they do anything to you?”

Michael shrugged. “You’re a reporter. You know how these things can go. Dad had a hand in the fabrication of this dome. And if they can’t screw the contractor, they’ll go for the subcontractor.”

“Who was the main contractor?” Suddenly, her voice was all business.

“Aubenay.”

Melanie made a quick note on her notescreen. “I’ll keep that name in mind.” She looked up. “Where’s Jena?”

“Home.”

“Is she coming out to join you later?”

“No.”

“That’s loyalty.” Melanie made a sour face. “Are you here alone?”

“Mom’s coming down. …”

“Mom?” Panic spread across her features. Gone, for the moment, was the cool, sophisticated stranger, and in her place on the beige wallseat was the anxious teenage sister he remembered so well.

“What’s wrong?”

Melanie swallowed carefully, as though unsure of her voice.

“I just don’t think I’m up to facing her after all this time. What would I say to her? I can’t exactly talk about what I’ve been doing, can I?”

“She’d love to see you.” Michael sat down beside her. “I know she would. And what can’t you tell her?”

Melanie let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t want to know either. Michael, I’ve had a few experiences I wouldn’t recommend to anybody.”

“Like exotic dancing in Washington?”

“How did you know about that?” She looked thunderstruck.

“Remember when Dad was doing that lobbying to relax the federal safety regulations? We got pretty chummy with an assistant of Senator Jacobsen’s—Andrea Greenberg.”

Melanie’s eyes were huge. “Not Senator Greenberg from Maryland?”

“The same. Even then, she had good connections. Anyway, at our request, she did some looking around, and finally found your trail.” Michael paused. “So we know about the dancing, and about the stolen skimmer. …”

“Does Mom know?”

Michael nodded.

“And Dad?”

“We never told him. And even if we did, it wouldn’t matter now.” Michael knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help it. “He’s forgotten most of what he once knew, anyway.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. I didn’t recognize him the last time I saw him. I don’t think Mom did, either.”

“You and Mom went to visit him? Where is he?” Melanie’s face was pale, and getting paler.

“At Dream Haven. The California storehouse. I thought I told you. …”

“The storehouse?” Melanie was on her feet, pacing in agitation. “How bad is he? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

So she couldn’t share his pain, could she? Suddenly, Michael’s fury, pent up for years, came boiling out. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of offending you with facts from real life. About your real family. The rest of us will cope while you hide, safe behind those blue contact lenses. At least Jimmy tries to help out whenever he’s in the Northern Hemisphere. I don’t know what dimension
you
inhabit.”

“Oh, Michael, don’t be mad at me.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I know I’ve let everybody down. I didn’t really mean to. But I’ve been away for so long now, I don’t really know how to act with family any longer.”

She’s telling the truth, he thought. His anger evaporated, replaced by sympathy and even pity for his exiled sister. At least he had the network of the family and the clan to support him. Who did Melanie have? She was alone. All alone.

“Here.” He handed her a tissue. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down so hard on you.”

She dried her eyes, professional mask back in place. “I guess I deserved it.”

“I shouldn’t judge you, Mel.” He shook his head. “I’m in no position.”

“Don’t let this investigation get to you. …”

“It’s more than that. At least you followed your instincts and left. Despite mine, I stayed. Married Jena. Tried to be a good mutant boy. I was so stupid, Mel.”

Gently, she put her hand on his shoulder. “You did what you thought was right, Michael.”

“Right. What is right?” he said. “There are mornings I wake up, and I don’t recognize myself or my life. I can’t believe how I sold myself out.”

“Sometimes, there’s no choice.”

“I suppose.” He rubbed his eyes. His watch chimed gently. “So much for regrets and should-haves. It’s getting close to showtime. …”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Sure I won’t bias your reporting?” he said wryly.

She managed a small smile. “I can’t change the facts, even if I want to.” Her smile broadened. “Imagine it when I break the story: Reporter’s brother guilty of entire Moonstation disaster. Ryton breaks down under questioning and admits: ‘I did it. I used substandard glue.’ Entire Cable News network implicated. Details at seven. Maybe.” She started giggling.

Michael caught her mood. Chuckling, he copied her mechanical reporter’s intonation. “Entire mutant conspiracy feared.” He began to laugh.

“Lock your doors.”

“Say your prayers.”

They were both leaning against the walls, hooting with laughter.

“Promise you’ll come visit me in jail?” he sputtered.

“Every six years or so. Why break my record?”

They clutched their stomachs and slid down in their plush upholstered chairs. Finally, they calmed a bit, wiped their eyes.

“Whew.”

“I needed that,” he said.

“Me too.” Quietly, she slipped her hand into his. “You know I’ll be there with you.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed her fingers.

Together, they stood up, left the room, and walked, hand in hand, toward the elevator.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

.

Outside, the sun was setting behind Camelback Mountain in tones of blood, bronze, and blue-green. Inside, the lighting fell softly, pink and gold, upon the masked partygoers, diffused by a thousand twinkling spotbeams sunken into the arched ceiling of the Emory ballroom. Masked musicians saluted the beginning of night with a flourish of horns and bells. Then the eerie notes of a claviflute cut through the din of the party, sinuous, compelling, half bass rhythm, half ethereal song.

The partygoers froze, transfixed by the music like a flock of iridescent hummingbirds hypnotized by sweet, exotic nectar.

Grateful for the distraction, Narlydda turned away from the space industrialist in orange silk. Turquoise horns jutted outward from the top of his mask toward her like eerie, grasping fingers. He’d spent the past fifteen minutes telling her about his art studies in college.

How beautiful the music is, she thought. And how strange.

Tavia Emory, resplendent in a sculptured gown of gold and silver leaf over flexible ceramic, stood nearby. Narlydda drifted toward her.

“Who is that playing?” Narlydda asked.

“Yosh Akimura.”

“The musician who helped me on the Moonstation piece?”

“The same. He’s
very
talented, isn’t he?” Tavia’s voice purred with double entendre.

Narlydda wrinkled her nose at the tone, grateful for the shield of her own pearl and glass mask.

Tavia’s face was concealed behind a green and golden shell mask through which her eyes glittered in their golden lenses, adding to the peculiar gilded effect. More mutant chic. But then, half of the people here appeared to be mutants. Were they? It was impossible to tell.

Narlydda adjusted the filter behind her eyeslits. Through it, her own eyes appeared to be green in this light. She scanned the crowd, looking for a sign of Yosh. Finally, she saw the young musician strolling toward her.

He wore green silk, a trailing, long-sleeved tunic, belted in purple, and pants tucked into high boots. His face was unmasked, but half-painted in gleaming swirls of silver and lavender paint, shot through with metallic sparks which glittered as he turned in the light. He finished his serenade and bowed gracefully as the guests applauded. Moments later, the musicians began a popular, rhythmic tune as a circular portion of the inlaid floor intended for dancing detached, hovering on g-fields as guests hopped aboard to swirl gaily around the shimmering room.

“Yosh, your music was lovely,” Narlydda said. “I wish I’d asked you to play for me before.”

He smiled modestly. “Narlydda? I recognize the voice. But what have you done to yourself?”

“Skin dye. Lasts almost a week.”

“Very convincing.” He walked around her, nodding. “Is this how you dress all the time?”

“Only around people I don’t like. Or trust.”

“That’s a fine distinction.”

Narlydda chuckled. “Oh, there are quite a few people I like whom I wouldn’t turn my back on.”

“Such as?”

“That would be telling.” She smiled a secret smile. “This party must be costing Tavia a small fortune.”

Yosh nodded and surveyed the colorful crowd around them. Then he turned back to her. “Good thing she has a very large fortune. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Not really. I never do at these things.”

“Shame.” He helped himself to a hypo from the tray of a passing mechwaiter. “I like parties.” He injected the stimulant, closed his eyes as it took effect. Opened them. “Don’t you dance?”

“Not by myself.”

“How about with me?”

“Won’t Tavia get annoyed?”