The Mutant Prime (22 page)

“Victor, you can’t go on behaving this way,” Narlydda said. Her voice was low and hoarse. “Don’t you see that you’ll only hurt yourself?”

Ashman smiled brilliantly. “It means so much to me when you show that you care. But you’ll wear yourself out worrying about unimportant normals. And I can show you things you’ve never dreamed of, even in your wildest artistic visions.” He pulled her into his arms.

For a moment, Melanie thought he would waltz Narlydda around the turquoise room in his crazed exuberance. The artist rested listlessly in his embrace, head drooping. But Ashman seemed oblivious to her nerveless state. He held her close, crooning for a moment before he remembered that somebody else was watching them. With a jerk, he looked up and locked his brilliant, silvery gaze upon Melanie.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said. “I was just leaving anyway.” She backed away toward the door.

“I think you could use a nap as well,” Ashman said.

His eyes held her with hypnotic power. Melanie stared into their cool, shimmering depths and felt a strange compulsion to yawn. No. No, stay awake, she told herself. Get away. She shook her head, breaking the spell.

Ashman frowned, disconcerted. “I said sleep!”

“Try a lullaby,” Melanie retorted. “I knew you were a fake.”

“How strange.” Ashman turned so that Narlydda could see Melanie as well. “Look, dear, she seems impervious to my charms.” His voice was cold. “Well, Miss Melanie Mutant, why don’t you perform for me, then? Narlydda has already given me quite a demonstration of her telekinetic skills—or tried to. How about you? Can you read my mind? Throw a mechmaid through the air? Juggle burning torches?”

“I’d rather just disappear,” Melanie said. “That would be a nice old sideshow trick.”

“Whatever you’d like, dear.” Gently, he helped Narlydda onto a heap of cushions. She sat there passively, her hands resting in her lap.

“Don’t ‘dear’ me,” Melanie said sharply. “And I’m not interested in joining your mutant circus, Ashman.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a null. I did forget that. My apologies.” He gave her a peculiar look. “Would you like some mutant powers?”

Melanie froze. Was it possible? Could this madman give her what she’d always dreamed of? To be able to levitate. Or use mindspeech. To participate fully at Mutant Council meetings and clan gatherings … she wavered. Then she glanced at Yosh, curled on the ground asleep. He had told her he preferred her as a null. And after all this time, how could she imagine that she would adapt to being an operative mutant? She wouldn’t recognize herself. No. No.

She nodded toward Yosh. “Wake him up and let us out of here!”

“How disappointing.” Ashman shook his head. “Oh well. …”

Narlydda seemed to divine his thoughts. She jumped up and reached for his hands. “No, Victor. Please. She hasn’t done anything …”

Too late, Melanie heard the click of a mech behind her. As she whirled, she felt the sting of a hypo in her left arm. And then she was slumping to the floor, her mind a pleasant, warm red buzz, fading to black.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

.

_{Ashman, don’t__}

The mindspeech cut through Skerry’s telepathic shield like feedback, flaring oddly in clairaudient cadence. Despite the distortion, the intonation felt familiar.

Narlydda? Did he dare risk dropping his own shields to broadcast an inquiry? If Ashman was listening, he’d hear him immediately. Might be eavesdropping clairaudiently right now.

The cry he’d caught seemed to come from several floors above him. He was on the third level of Emory Foundation headquarters. Behind him was row after row of employees slumped at their desks as though enchanted.

This is worse than I thought. What has Rebekah gotten me into?

He paused near a pale woman. Her long red hair spread in a vibrant halo over her deskpad. The dim lighting gave her skin a bluish cast.

Face it, he thought. Rebekah hasn’t gotten me into anything I haven’t already chosen. If Narlydda’s here, then I have to be here too. Love’s a ball and chain, all right.

He blew a kiss toward the red-haired sleeper.

Need a lot of Prince Charmings to awaken this bunch, he thought. I don’t know if my lips are up to it.

He turned and strode toward the stairs. The laser pistol swung from his belt. To his surprise, he climbed to the sixth level without obstacle. Either Ashman knew he was here and didn’t care, or he was getting sloppy.

Hope it’s the latter.

He emerged from the stairwell into a dim hallway. The starlight that entered through the filtered windows gave a cool glow but precious little illumination. Skerry cut his shields and risked a brief mental probe, aiming for subliminal resonance, below Ashman’s notice. If Narlydda was nearby, she would reflect the probe by instinct. All Skerry needed was an echo or two. And there it was, bouncing back toward him from a far corridor to his left. He didn’t like the stressful coloration of the reverberations, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it until he found his lady.

He squinted down the dark corridor.

Ready or not, Ashman, here I come.

The mental echo danced tantalizingly in Skerry’s mind. It led him into a wing of rooms that seemed partially unfinished. Carpeting lay piled high in bolts. He peered into one open chamber and saw a young Japanese man lying on a cot, fast asleep. He paused for a moment, then walked on into the next open chamber.

The walls inside were blue. The room was empty. He walked out and continued down the corridor, but found that every room he came to was empty.

Time to risk a probe again. The echo came back, stronger, this time, from the second blue room.

Lydda?

No answer, save for that faint, tantalizing echo:
Ashman, don’t, don’t, don’t.

Narlydda was here. That was the echo of her thoughts. Unmistakable. Skerry hurried into the chamber.

Ashman, don’t
—Too late, he saw the door close behind him, cutting off the brief connection. Narlydda’s mindspeech had come from outside the room. But the echo had come from within. A trap.

He send a quick telepathic bolt against the door. It bounced back with lightning speed, causing him to jump out of the way to avoid getting seared.

Neural reflectors, he thought. This room is a cage for telepaths. And I walked right into it. Brilliant.

Cursing, Skerry sat down on the wallseat, and the bulky laser pistol scraped along his thigh. He fingered it, watching the door. Maybe he could burn his way out of here. It was worth a try.

The pistol had five settings. Try lowest first, he thought.

Taking careful aim, he depressed the trigger stud. A bolt of yellow light exploded toward the door. And bounced back at him. He ducked just in time. But it ricocheted in his direction with blinding speed.

“Shit!” Skerry dropped to the floor as the laser bolt danced crazily from wall to wall before exhausting its energy and fading away.

Well, that was a bad idea too. Cautiously, Skerry sat up. He looked around the room. When he saw the mech and food supply, he cursed again and put his head in his hands.

At least he knew that Narlydda was here. But Ashman had been clever. And prepared. The least he could do was return the compliment.

Skerry took a deep breath, sat back against the turquoise wall, and closed his eyes. His pulse and breathing rate slowed as he counted. One, two, three, four …

Let Ashman keep him locked up. He could maintain at this level for twenty days. Almost three weeks in which he would still be a tiger, waiting for the zookeeper to open the cage.

Narlydda watched Ashman fiddle with the wallscreen microphone.

“Isn’t it a little late for sending messages?” she said acidly.

“Not to the West Coast,” he said. “I promised to discuss my plans with Rebekah Terling, and I think that this would be an ideal time to chat with her.”

“I don’t know that she’d agree,” Narlydda said. She sat down carefully on a pile of blue cushions. How long had she been here? Days? Weeks? She knew it was the middle of the night. But which night?

The wallscreen whistled strangely, as though bucking interference of some sort. Then the picture solidified and the Book Keeper of the Western Mutant Council stared from the screen with a wary expression.

“Rebekah, Ashman here.”

“I know who you are,” she said. “I’d expected that we’d talk face to face. …”

“We are,” Ashman said pleasantly.

“I meant in person,” she said sharply. “And not in the wee hours, either.”

“I’m a nightowl.”

“I’d expected to hear from Tavia Emory. I’ve left messages for her over several days.”

Ashman shrugged. “She’s been a bit under the weather. A touch of the flu. The doctor prescribed rest.”

“I’m sure.” The Book Keeper’s tone was skeptical. “Well, what’s on your mind, Mr. Ashman?”

“I’ve been considering how best to integrate me into your group.”

Narlydda looked up in surprise.

“Yes, we’d all been wondering about that,” Rebekah replied drily. “And what are your suggestions?”

“I suggest, my dear Rebekah, that you resign as Book Keeper in favor of my natural ascendance. I’ll be making the same suggestion to Astori on the East Coast, of course, but I suppose that will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Rebekah seemed speechless. Swallowing hard, she turned away from the screen for a moment. Then she gave him a piercing look. Her golden eyes glittered.

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “Assuming we would countenance this change in the first place, it would have to be put up before the respective councils for a motion to request full-membership vote. We couldn’t even begin to mobilize that before the summer meeting—”

“Why do you resist unification!” Ashman shouted. “Don’t you see how fragmented you are? That you’re being assimilated against your will even as you try to resist? You’re growing weaker, not stronger. You need a central leader—a powerful one—to direct mutant affairs. Don’t give me limp excuses about parliamentary procedures. You can call a plenary session any time if there’s reason for it.”

The Book Keeper’s expression froze at his outburst. “I don’t think this is a good enough reason,” she said quietly. “I appreciate your concern for the mutant community. If you wish to work with us, Mr. Ashman, I suggest that you attend the next full council meeting, on
either
coast. You will be made welcome. Should you wish to discuss this or any other issues, you will be invited to put them before us at that time.” She paused. “It seems to me to be in all our best interests that you make an attempt to join us before you attempt to own us.”

Ashman cut the connection abruptly. “I knew she was against me the moment I met her,” he said. “Well, she’ll be sorry she resisted me.”

“She’s not resisting you,” Narlydda said. “You can’t expect to just walk in and take over. …”

“I can do whatever I want,” he snapped. “Do you doubt it?” He swung around, his black tunic flapping. “I’ve completely controlled this entire complex. No one comes or goes, sleeps or awakens, unless I allow it. I’ve given those pitiful, puny lesser mutants the courtesy of an illusion that they have a choice.” He laughed harshly. “They have no choice. As they’ll see, shortly. I’m their future, whether they like it or not.”

Narlydda swallowed gingerly. She felt very tired, and her throat was dry. Ashman seemed to sense this and levitated a pitcher from the table near him, pouring a sparkling cascade of amber liquid into a tall, amethyst glass. When the glass was full, it floated into Narlydda’s hand.

“Drink,” he said. His tone was gentle. “I know you’re tired. But please, just keep me company for a while longer, and then I’ll let you sleep.”

She wanted to dash the glass to the floor. To tell him he was crazy, delusional, and repellent. But there was something oddly touching about him in his crazed loneliness. She couldn’t hurt him that way. Whether she would survive his affection, well, she’d worry about that later.

She tipped the glass up and took a sip.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

.

Rebekah Terling tossed restlessly as the dawn light slipped through the window blinds to draw pink lines on the wall by her bed. She’d tried chants, warm milk, even valedrine, but sleep eluded her still. Ashman’s call had confirmed her worst fears, and no amount of narcotic could quiet the tired, panicked voice in her head. The one that said Ashman was serious. And that he had the power to implement his desires, with or without the assent of the council members.

Enough worry, she thought. Furiously, she threw back the covers and turned on her bedside screen.

Damn. No message from Skerry. Where are you, old will-o’-the-wisp? In trouble? On the Moon? Should I send in help? I wish I knew what to do! I thought that Book Keepers always knew the right thing to do.

For a moment, she considered going to Scottsdale herself. With a high-powered laser rifle, she might be able to kill Ashman without coming in range of his powers … but no. She was fooling herself. She was no match for a man who could mindspeak across a continent. Their only hope was Skerry. If even he was strong enough.