The Mutant Prime (16 page)

I’ll just wait here until somebody finds me, she thought. Surely Nesse will come looking for me to take down the travel cam. She needs me to do that, at the very least. Or maybe I can call the main switchboard and somebody will answer.

She closed the door and turned to see a handsome young Japanese man in rich brown leather jacket and pants staring at her curiously from his perch near a window. His long black hair was caught loosely behind his neck by a knotted red thong. Expressionless, he studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled. His eyes met hers with frank interest.

“Hello,” he said. “Lost?”

His voice was a warm, vibrant baritone. She felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle. She wanted to hear that caressing voice again, right away.

“Not lost,” she said.

He smiled easily. “Well, then found?”

She smiled back. “Maybe.” His eyes were deep hazel, dark, and magnetic. Quick, she thought, say something. “I’m a tourist. I’ve been taking in the sights.”

“The
son et lumière
doesn’t start for another couple of hours,” he said, standing up. “My name’s Yosh. Would you like a guide?”

Dust motes danced a
pas de deux
in the morning sunshine that poured in through the front bay window of Narlydda’s house. Outside, the grounds were immaculate, faithfully maintained by whirring silver mechs. Inside, the house was filled with emptiness, from white timbered ceiling to lavender tiled floors. The only sound was that of the screen, when it rang. And ring it did, but there was no one home to hear it. No one but faithful Anne Verland. On the third ring, she answered.

“You have reached Narlydda. She is unavailable. How may I help you?”

The message was from a Mendocino art gallery inviting Narlydda to an opening. Anne shunted it into an auxiliary message file. The main bank was full. Although Anne’s total memory capacity was immense, Narlydda had subdivided it for convenience. But Narlydda had not asked to check messages in seventy-nine hours. That was odd.

A routine survey of the house revealed that nothing had changed in five hours. The gardenmechs made their rounds and fed Bluebeard, Narlydda’s malamute. But where was Narlydda? Not on the lawn nor in the back garden.

The swimming pool was clean, sparkling blue. Empty. The foam bath twinkled with rainbow iridescence.

Anne was not programmed for curiosity. But she was programmed to spot anomalies in schedule. Smoothly she scanned all circuits. Her emergency line was clear. Narlydda had not summoned any help, or for that matter, any sort of transportation. Therefore all must be well. She would make her presence known eventually.

The main circuit at the front door buzzed with a prefix code for immediate clearance. The doorscreen showed a muscular, brown-haired mutant with a beard. In a nanosecond, Anne Verland summoned his name from the depths of computer memory. Skerry. Narlydda had tagged all communications from him as top priority.

“Narlydda? Lydda?” Silence. “Anne, is she at home?”

“I am not authorized—”

“Screw authorization,” he said. “Code 5YCadmium Yellow.”

The front door slid open. He strode in and headed for the main wallscreen.

“Access to data files is open,” Anne told him.

“I want a scan of the past week, double speed.”

Anne Verland complied.

“Hold.”

She froze the image for him: Narlydda walking out the door, an overnight bag in her hand. “More.” The scene switched to the outside and showed her getting into a bright blue skimmer that displayed the Emory Foundation logo.

“Seems she went for a little trip. That’s not like her.” He cracked his knuckles meditatively. “Anne, how long has she been gone?”

“Almost a week.”

Skerry swore. “I knew I should have gotten back here sooner. Any messages from Emory Foundation?”

Obediently, Anne replayed Mrs. Emory’s invitation.

“And Narlydda took her up on it?” He shook his head in amazement. “I thought this was supposed to be an overnight visit. Get me Emory Foundation. Ask for Narlydda.”

After a brief pause, Anne responded, “No answer.”

“Try again. Try thirty times if you have to.”

Anne got through on the ninth try.

“They inform me that Narlydda left several days ago.”

“What? Then where is she? Get me that Tavia Emory woman. Tell her it’s the head of the Mutant Council calling.”

“But that’s not true …”

“Do it!” His golden eyes flashed with fury.

Again, Anne was silent. But only for a moment. “I’m sorry. They report that she is ill and unable to come to the screen.”

Skerry frowned. “Hmmm. Strange. And not good strange. Try Rebekah Terling, 7089877767375.”

“Ringing.”

A moment later, Rebekah peered at him. Behind her, a wallscreen showed neat parallel lines of stock quotations in glowing yellow numerals.

“Skerry? I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know. Sorry to interrupt you at work, but it’s important. I want you to tell me anything you can about Emory Foundation.”

“Emory Foundation? Why?”

“Never mind the reason. Didn’t you just go there?”

“Yes. We saw Ashman.”

“And?”

“Why the curiosity now?” she snapped. “You weren’t interested when I asked for your help. But you seem to think it’s fine to interrupt me in the middle of work to badger me with a string of cryptic questions. Honestly, Skerry, I’m getting tired of your games.”

He cut her off. “Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I was wrong. I was too hasty at the meeting. Come on, Bekah. Tell me.”

“Ashman was friendly, all right. Too friendly. Wants to address both the mutant councils and the union. Said something about presiding.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. What did you do?”

“Stalled for time, but in the end we had to agree. What else could we do?”

Skerry shook his head. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“Well, you certainly seem to be an expert on the topic,” Rebekah said coldly. “Did you call me merely to offer advice?”

“No. Sorry again.” He held up his hands. “I’ve got a friend who may be in trouble at the Emory HQ, Bekah.”

“A mutant friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I know her?”

“Not yet.”

Rebekah’s expression softened. “Then I look forward to meeting her. What kind of trouble, Skerry?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What are you going to do?” She gazed at him intently.

“Head for Arizona.”

“That fits in perfectly with our plans.”

He looked at her sharply. “What plans?”

Her eyes were candid as they met his. “The Mutant Council voted that Ashman represents too great a threat to the mutant population.”

“You want me to kill him? No way.” Skerry crossed his arms angrily. “I won’t be the clan executioner. We don’t even know who this guy really is. Or what he is.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything any of us wouldn’t do.”

“No? Then you go kill him! Or have pretty-boy Wade Walters get himself a laser rifle. …”

“Wade thinks we can work with Ashman.”

“Maybe he’s right.”

“I don’t think you believe that for a moment.” Rebekah paused, rubbed her forehead wearily. “Skerry, you know you have special skills that I lack.” Her voice was soft, wheedling. “And I’m worried. Ashman is too dangerous. Too ambitious. It radiates out of him in waves.”

“Mutant paranoia, Bekah. I thought we were waiting eagerly for a supermutant to come set us all free.”

“It’s the wrong time. The wrong man.”

Skerry’s eyes glittered angrily. “Oh yeah? How do we know that?”

“I met him. I know.”

“Subjective. Do you have any proof? No, of course you don’t. Well, drop it for the moment. What about Emory Foundation?”

“Corporate headquarters on the outskirts of the Phoenix/Scottsdale metroplex.” Rebekah shrugged. “Lots of glass and acrylics. Lots of mutants, too.”

Skerry looked at her sharply, “Lots of mutants, did you say?”

Rebekah nodded. “Tavia Emory has a classic case of mutant envy. She’s surrounded herself with mutants. I half expected to see some mutant heads, stuffed and mounted on the wall. She even wears gold contact lenses.”

“Interesting.” Skerry smiled bitterly. “Well, Rebekah, it looks like a trip to Scottsdale has been added to my plans. But I’m not saying I’m going to take this Ashman on.”

“I understand.” She gazed at him for a moment. “Skerry, be careful.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“Stop fooling around! You know that my concerns are well founded. I’ve been waiting to have a call returned from Tavia Emory for two days. She’s usually the soul of promptness. Especially when it’s mutant business.”

“I don’t think she’s taking any calls right now,” Skerry said. “And don’t worry about me, Bekah. I’ve gotten too old to take stupid chances. But if I see this Emory woman, I’ll ask her to get in touch.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said drily. “Keep me posted.” She waved and turned back to her stock records. The screen went dark.

Skerry studied Narlydda’s brightly lit studio for a moment. A rose silk robe lay discarded on a cushion. He reached down and gently touched the glossy fabric. “Thanks, Anne.”

“You’re quite welcome. Do you require any further assistance?”

There was no answer. And where he had stood, the sunlight cast bright circles upon the lavender carpet.

“Kelly? Please, say something,” Michael begged. “Anything.”

She stood across from him in the elevator cab, a slim figure in a purple uniform. Her eyes were wide, and the expression on her face was one of chagrin.

“Stop the elevator,” she said quietly. “Let me out.”

“Wait. Just let me talk …”

“Let me out. Stop it.”

Summoning his mutant skills, he slowed the cab until it stopped dead in the shaft. The emergency buzzer blared angrily for a moment, then squawked and was silent. Its red light paled, faded, went out.

Michael waved his hand.” All right, I stopped it. That’s what you asked me to do, isn’t it?”

The hoped-for smile never materialized. Instead, Kelly thrust her chin out in determination. Her eyes sparkled with anger. “Don’t play mutant games with me, Michael Ryton.”

“This isn’t a game.” He took a step toward her, all playful pretense dropped. “Kelly, listen to me. I just want to talk to you.”

“Go away.” She shrank from him into the corner. The shiny cab walls reflected duplicate Kellys, a multitude, all pulling away from him. “Leave me alone.”

“Kelly, please!” He’d scared her. That hadn’t been his intention at all.

Her voice rose. “I can’t believe this is happening. Let me out.”

Michael felt his telekinetic control slipping. With a groan, the elevator cab lurched, then continued descending to the lobby. The doors slid open.

“Wait,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to you.” She glared at him bitterly, angrily. There was something close to hatred in her eyes. Then she turned and stalked away in the direction of the Shuttle Corps housing.

Michael cursed and reached for her with his mind. Caught her, strained to pull her back toward him.

She swung around. Her eyes were blazing.

“Let go of me, Michael!”

Her stride had slowed as though she were caught by an invisible hand.

Michael felt the air heating up between them as she struggled in his telekinetic grip. Her features were contorted in anger and fear.

“Dammit!” She took a step as if moving through molasses. But she couldn’t get free of his pull.

Around them, people stopped to stare.

“Lady, do you want me to call the police?” asked a red-clad messenger with spiked hair to match.

Kelly shook her head. “No.” She stopped struggling. Arms crossed in front of her, she floated a foot off the pavement, watching Michael warily.

“I’ll let you go if you agree to have a drink with me,” he said. “Just a half hour, Kelly. Please.”

“And if I don’t, what are you going to do, keep me here all day?” Her tone was mocking. “I know even telekinetics get tired—you can’t hold me forever.”

“You’re right.” In defeat, he released her.

She took two steps toward him, her hands balled into fists. For a moment, he thought she intended to strike him.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“I repeat that we have nothing to say to each other.”

“And I disagree.”

They stared at one another for a moment. Then Michael smiled.

“Where’s a good place to talk?”

Muscles jerked in her jaw. She took a deep breath as though about to shout him down. But instead, she sighed loudly and turned her back on him. When she spoke, her voice was muffled.