The Mutant Prime (13 page)

Fisher subsided abruptly into icy professionalism.

“Very well, Mr. Ryton. Thank you. You may go. For the time being.”

Warily, he rose from his seat. He glanced across the room, hoping to catch Kelly’s eye again. But the seat in which she had been sitting was now vacant. She was gone.

Melanie left the press box quickly. A headache was rapidly gaining strength behind her eyeballs. She rubbed her forehead and wondered where she’d put her alpha blockers. The interrogation had been brutal, with all the signs of a real witch-hunt, just as she’d feared. And her brother was the prey they were after. Michael had defended himself well, but she was worried just the same. Even if he was innocent, once her compadres in the media got finished with him, he’d be lucky if somebody let him make screen components in Little Korea, much less manufacture Moonstation domes. And what was she going to do about this story? How could she report the public “lynching” of her brother in glorious, living videotape?

Her lapscreen buzzed. She flipped it open.

The image of Randall Camphill appeared, staring at her.

“Ryton, we’re sending Ralph Ferron to relieve you,” he said. “I want you in this office, pronto.”

Melanie nearly dropped her screen. “Relieve me? Why?”

“I want you to accompany Nesse to Emory Foundation.”

“Emory Foundation!” She stared at her boss in confusion.

“Yeah. I finally worked out an agreement with Mrs. Emory to do a series of interviews with her and that supermutant, Ashman.”

“The strange guy with the silver eyes? You’re kidding.”

“No. Get back here. Now.”

“But—”

“But what?”

She’d almost said “What about my brother?” She stammered for a moment. “Uh, the investigation is heating up. …”

“Ferron will cover it.” Camphill’s eyes were icy. “Unless you’d prefer I sent somebody else to Scottsdale?”

Melanie shook her head fervently. “No, no. Of course not, chief. I’m on my way.”

“Good.” His image vanished.

Well, so much for watching her brother be chewed on by the congressional lions. A small voice in her head told her she was being disloyal, that she should have refused the assignment and stayed. Maybe so. But to refuse Randall C. was certain death careerwise. She knew that. And besides, she was confused enough about her feelings toward the family. Maybe a cooling-off period was a good idea. Michael would be fine without her. She’d leave a message for him and try to return as soon as she could. That supermutant had to be a fake. Maybe she and Nesse would wrap up this story quickly, and she could get back here by the end of the week. Sighing with relief, Melanie bundled her equipment together and punched in a request for a taxi. Sometimes her life felt like one long, revolving shuttle ride.

CHAPTER
NINE

.

Kelly McLeod opened her eyes and stretched in the morning sunlight. Nine o’clock. She just had time for breakfast. In the corner of the room, her message screen blinked in blue letters. She hadn’t bothered to check it last night. Yawning, she padded over to it and hit the replay switch.

The image of Melanie Ryton appeared. She looked nervous. “Kelly, I’ve got to leave—I’ve been reassigned to a different story. I didn’t get a chance to tell Michael, I can’t find the screen code for his hotel, my shuttle is about to leave, and besides, I can’t afford to let anybody know how we’re connected. So please keep your eye on him for me. If you need to reach me, try
AF7951-CABLENEWS
.
I’ll try to get back as soon as I can. Thanks.” She nodded and the image faded.

“Damn,” Kelly muttered. Melanie’s got to be kidding, she thought. The last thing I want to do is keep an eye on her brother. I thought I’d made that clear. She has a hell of a nerve—funny, I don’t remember her being that way in high school. Seems like she’s made up for lost time. Well, regardless, Michael would just have to look after himself, because Kelly would be far, far away.

She dressed quickly in a standard purple shuttle corps uniform. Hair neat, a touch of lipstick, and she was ready. As she walked toward the commissary, Kelly reviewed her plan. She would ask Landon for a leave of absence until the subcommittee had finished its preliminary investigation. If they hanged Michael Ryton from the shuttle’s landing gear, at least she wouldn’t be around to see it. She’d given her testimony. What more did they need from her?

After a quick cup of coffee from the commech, she hurried to her shuttle commander’s temporary quarters in the next building. Luckily, Landon was in, and his assistant, Marc Hershman, buzzed her ahead.

“Colonel?”

Landon looked up from his screen. “Come in, McLeod.”

She set her jaw in determination, walked in, and sat on the narrow red chair in front of his desk. The room was filled with pink memorypaks and triple-column printouts. Screenwork. The bane of every shuttle jockey’s Earthside rotation.

“Sir, I request a change of assignment.” Her voice shook on the last word.

He stared at her a moment, eyes glittering. Kelly had the uncomfortable sensation that he could look right through her.

“What do you mean?”

She shifted uneasily in her seat. “Sir, I don’t think that I’m really being useful now that my testimony is on record, and I could be working—”

“You are working.”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, I know. But I don’t see why—”

“You know your duty, McLeod.”

“Then I request leave.”

He leaned toward her. “Why the sudden wanderlust?”

“It’s personal.”

“I assumed that.” His expression softened. “What’s going on, Kelly? Something wrong? You and Grant not getting along?”

“What difference would that make?” she asked sharply.

Landon sighed. “You’re not helping me out, Kelly. I can’t release you without a damned good reason. Now stop wasting my time. And yours.”

Kelly hesitated. Could she trust him?

“Come on, Kelly. Or else I have to deny your request automatically.”

She had no choice. When she spoke, her voice felt tight in her throat. “I knew one of the witnesses.”

“I see. Who?”

“Michael Ryton, sir.”

Landon’s eyes widened. “Ryton? How well?”

“
Very
well, sir. If you know what I mean.”

Landon sighed. He reached across the tan acrylic desk and turned off his screen.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t know he was going to be here.”

“You saw the list of those subpoenaed.”

“Yes.” Kelly looked away from Landon’s glittering eyes. “But I thought maybe he wouldn’t come.”

“What? Ignore a government summons and risk a citation for contempt of Congress?”

She shrugged. “You told me yourself that mutants are independent. Unpredictable. I didn’t think he’d come. I prayed he wouldn’t. Maybe I just thought if I ignored it, it would go away.”

“Terrific.” He stood up, ran his hands through his short brown hair. “Well, I don’t think this compromises anything, really. Have you talked to him?”

“No. And I don’t want to.”

“I thought not. Don’t suppose you’d want to tell me the details?”

Kelly forced herself to meet his gaze. “We were sweethearts. Childhood sweethearts.” She closed her eyes. “Gods, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“What’s wrong with it if that’s the truth?”

“Makes my skin crawl.” She gave him a tiny smile. “Anyway, we wanted to get married. But the Mutant Council had other ideas. So he married a nice mutant girl and had a nice mutant baby. And I joined the service. Thought it was time to see less of him and more of the world.”

“A good idea.” Landon’s tone was sympathetic. “I’d almost accuse you of being foolishly optimistic, trying for intermarriage. It’s still considered shocking in certain circles these days.”

“Well, I learned the hard way.” She paused. “Speaking of certain circles, what does the Mutant Council think of this supermutant?”

“He’s disturbing. We don’t know what to make of him. And now that he’s accepted the protection of the Emory Foundation-—he’s under lock and key in Scottsdale—we’ve got to ask permission to talk to him.”

“I’ll bet the military brass are going crazy.”

Landon nodded.

“Everybody wants a piece of him. The military. The CIA. The research labs. If I were Ashman, I’d stay out in the desert.”

“Will they get their hands on him?”

“Eventually.” Landon shrugged. “Unless he can also make himself disappear.” He toyed with his screen key for a moment, then looked up. “All right, Kelly, I’ll grant you a leave until this circus is over. But don’t disappear completely. Stay in touch.”

Kelly jumped up. “Thank you. I didn’t think—”

“Save it.” Landon smiled. Then his face turned somber. “I don’t know if you can outrun your past, Kelly. But you saved my life, and the least I can do is try not to trip you up now.”

“Thanks.” Giddy with relief, she walked out of his office as though floating through a low-g field.

I was lucky when they rotated Heyran Landon onto my duty roster, she thought. Bless his golden eyes.

She spoke quickly into the black mesh callbox. “Elevator, down.”

If she hurried, she could pack and catch a morning shuttle back to the East Coast. Visit the folks.

The red-enameled elevator doors slid open with a sigh and Kelly entered the cab. She was so preoccupied that she scarcely noticed the other occupant of the elevator until the doors closed and he turned around. A slim blond man in a sober gray suit.

“Hello, Kelly.”

The tenor voice was familiar. It had echoed through a hundred memories and nightmares. It belonged to Michael Ryton.

“Stop dancing around, Tavia, and admit it. You just don’t like my sketch.” Narlydda sat opposite the hawk-faced woman in a spacious office flooded by sunlight. Tavia shifted a moment, straightening a seam in her green silk caftan. Then she looked up, golden contact lenses gleaming.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, Narlydda. I wouldn’t exactly use that term. No, your work is so very, very fine that I would never say I didn’t like it.” She smiled. Was there just a trace of condescension there? “What I would say is that I think this has perhaps been, well, misconceived.”

“Misconceived?” Narlydda sat back in the plush leather chair and glared through the eyeholes of her half-mask. “How so?”

Tavia picked up a hammered bronze paperweight and shifted it from hand to hand. “How I envy mutants their abilities,” she murmured. “If I were a marvelous telekinetic, I would juggle without hands.” She put the paperweight down. “So many wondrous mutant abilities. And now there’s Ashman.” Her voice grew louder, more imperative. “I think it’s important to honor all mutants for their achievements, don’t you?”

“Of course. I thought that was what I was doing.” What was she driving at?

“Honor them all.
Especially
Ashman.”

Their eyes met, locked. For a moment, Narlydda was tempted to give Tavia Emory a demonstration of telekinesis by pushing her backward out of her chair. Finally, Tavia looked away.

“You want me to do a sculpture of Ashman?” Narlydda said.

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

“You’ve made nothing obvious, Tavia. I thought this commission was for a Moonstation memorial, not a private portrait.”

“This will hardly be private. …”

“My fee triples for portrait commissions, regardless of their intended use or siting,” Narlydda said sharply. “But I have no intention of changing my conception of the memorial. I think it’s perfect as is.”

“That’s a pity. There are so many other artists who are easier to work with. …”

“Then I suggest you contact them immediately. I reject this commission. Get yourself another artist.”

Before Tavia could reply, Narlydda was out the door, striding toward her room.

I don’t need her or her money, she thought furiously. I’ll order a taxi and get out of this claustrophobic fiefdom before I start knocking down walls. And as soon as I’m home, I’ll call Tri-Com and Cable News.

She grabbed her green leather travel bag. Thank God she’d packed before breakfast. But as she turned toward the door, she felt a wave of dizziness come over her. Head spinning, she sank down onto the bed.

Sleep
.

The mental command was direct, compelling, inescapable. Narlydda slept.

When she awoke, the walls had changed color. No. She was in a different room, and the walls were a soft, padded blue-green velour. But where was she? Where was the door? Narlydda staggered to her feet. She felt fuzzy-headed. Drugged. A drink of water, that’s what she needed. She reached telekinetically for a glass sitting on a low table across the room. The glass just sat there. Narlydda tried again. Then, desperately thirsty, she strode across the room, grabbed the glass, and gulped down its contents.