The Mutant Prime (31 page)

“What?”

“Impossible. He’s not a mutant.”

“You’re just making more trouble—”

Rebekah rested her chin in her hands and smiled. “Skerry, I’m beginning to look forward to your retirement.” She shook her head. “Melanie, is this true? You intend to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“What about children?”

“There won’t be any children,” Yosh said. His cheeks were flushed. He turned to Melanie. “I didn’t have time to tell you. And I’d hoped that it would be in more private circumstances.” He paused to cast an embarrassed glance at the Book Keeper. “But I’m sterile. Tested and confirmed years ago. Mel, I’m sorry if that changes things between us. I hope it doesn’t.”

Melanie looked down at his hand covering hers, then back up to meet his dark hazel eyes. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I’d hardly been thinking about marriage before I met you. I haven’t had a chance to let that sink in, much less consider children. And after all, I’m a null.” She smiled bravely. “Not much genetic material worth preserving there, I guess.”

Yosh squeezed her hand.

“Nevertheless,” Chemen Astori said, “We wish to maintain the gene pool for the community. Melanie, are you willing to consider artificial insemination from the Council’s sperm banks?”

“Artificial insemination? Boy, you folks certainly know how to take the romance out of things,” she said. “I guess I don’t have any objections.” She turned to Yosh. “But how do you feel about it?”

He looked around the room as though counting the number of mutants there. Then he shrugged. “What’s one extra pair of golden eyes around the house?”

“It’s agreed,” Rebekah said. “Good. As presiding Book Keeper, I sanction the betrothal of Melanie Ryton and Yosh Akimura. Welcome, Yosh. We appreciate your acceptance of our ways.” She gave him a quick, humorous glance. “You have our blessing.” The Book Keeper raised her hands and her tone became more formal. “We will offer a follow-up report of the Ashman incident at the summer meeting. In the meantime, if there is no further business, I think we can close.”

That’s it, Michael thought. And now, back to the real world of congressional hearings and unemployment. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Jena pulled a mirror from her purse and gazed into it, fussing with her long blond hair. Then she reached for a packet of lipstain.

A sudden pressure expanded to fill his chest, moving up his throat and into his head. Michael jumped to his feet. “No. Wait,” he cried. “I demand a hearing.” His heart was beating so hard that he felt dizzy.

Jena looked up in surprise from her mirror. Her upper lip was bright pink.

“Is it really that urgent?” Rebekah asked testily. “We’ve already had a funeral, a meeting and a betrothal. Can’t it wait two months until the summer meeting, Michael?”

He slammed his palm against the table. “No, dammit. I’m tired of waiting. I demand the right to be heard.”

Around the room, conversations halted. Every eye, golden or otherwise, was staring at him in amazement.

“Very well.” Rebekah gave him a long-suffering look. “State your case. But please, Michael. Be concise.”

He took a deep breath. Where to begin? “I hereby formally announce my intention to divorce.”

The audible and mental gasps reverberated around him. Jena’s mouth fell open. Beside her, Herra stared at her father, her eyes huge in disbelief.

“Is this really the time and place for such an announcement?” Rebekah said. Her tone was sharp. “Michael, I know you’ve been under a great deal of pressure—”

He cut her off. “Yes. I’m certain,” he said. “Now. Here. Before I get sucked back into the machinery once again. I’ve been a good son, a good husband, a good father, and a good worker. I’ve done all that has been asked of me. And in return, I’ve lost my job and my self-respect. I married to suit the community and council.” His voice rose. “But I can’t endure a marriage that is empty and meaningless. Whether or not you grant me right of divorce, I will leave this marriage. If necessary, I’ll leave this clan and community as well.”

“How dare you?” Jena cried. “How can you embarrass me like this? Don’t you care about me? About your daughter?”

“Michael, you know we frown upon divorce and prefer that you make other arrangements,” Chemen Astori said.

“So you admit that you demand hypocrisy as well as loyalty?” Michael said. “Well, I’ve had it with your double standard. I’ve sacrificed enough.”

“Why not wait six months,” Rebekah suggested. “You’ve been under terrible pressure. Talk to the healers.”

“They don’t have any cure they can offer me,” Michael snapped. “I prefer to settle things now.”

“Dad, I don’t believe this.” Herra’s voice was flat. Stunned.

He stared at Jena as though she were a stranger. “Jena, you can have everything,” he said. “I won’t fight you. Just let me have my life back.”

“So you can spend it with a nonmutant?” Her tone was bitter and her eyes sparkled with tears.

“Maybe. If she’ll have me. But I don’t know about that yet.”

“I support my son’s request,” Sue Li said suddenly. She stood, a small, gray-haired figure in a wine-colored kimono. “He’s shown good faith to the community. He has given his loyalty, his seed, his time. Surely he deserves something in return.”

“He’s out of his mind with grief,” Astori said.

“No, he’s not,” Skerry retorted. “In fact, he may be thinking clearly for the first time in years. I move that permission be granted. Get that ball and chain off of him now.”

“Skerry!” Narlydda shot him a furious look. “Stay out of this.”

“Wish I could, Lydda. But I’ve known this joker for quite some time. Watched him screw his life up, and as I see it, this is his chance to set things right.” Skerry leaned back in his seat. “My vote is for him.”

Rebekah stared at Michael as though she thought he was crazy. “I feel this is most inappropriate,” she said severely. “However, as you’ve demanded a ruling, I will give you one.” She looked at Jena, then at Michael. “Permission is granted. Reluctantly.”

Jena sank back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. Herra burst into tears.

Michael was aware of his mother beaming at him, of Skerry pounding him on the back, of his brother and sister looking at him with surprise. But he felt strangely distant from the noise and excitement, and a bit dazed. The only sound he heard clearly was the chiming of his watch. Like an automaton, he looked down at its blue enameled face.

One o’clock.

Kelly would be waiting for him. Outside.

He looked around the table one more time at his family, friends, all the familiar faces. Then, eagerly, he dashed from the room toward the skimmer port, and the rest of his life.

EPILOGUE

.

Scottsdale shimmered in the April heat: deep green downtown spires of FujiBank seemed to waver in the sunlight. Despite the early hour, the temperature was already climbing toward ninety.

Melanie hurried into the chilled entrance hall of Emory Foundation, hoping that she looked cooler than she felt. Her red silk tunic had to last through the broadcast.

“Hi.” Yosh was waiting by the reception desk. He caught her up in a bear hug. “Your crew’s already here, setting up. Am I allowed to kiss Cable News’s newest anchorwoman?”

“You’d better,” she said. “Married for only a little over a month, and I haven’t seen you in two weeks! In fact, you’d better do more than kiss me—when there’s time.”

Yosh made a mock growl and gently nipped her on the neck. “I thought you’d be accustomed to strange deadlines by now,” he said.

“Sure. My own.” Her eyes flashed gold. “Not my husband’s. That’s what I get for marrying a musician—especially one involved with Moonstation commissions.” She glanced at her watch. “Come on, or we’ll be late for the unveiling.”

Hand in hand, they hurried through the maze of corridors on Emory Foundation’s main floor toward the sculpture garden in the atrium.

“Nice of Randy C. to give you this assignment,” Yosh said.

Melanie laughed. “Didn’t I tell you? Old Randy was kicked upstairs to the Seoul home office. Nesse inherited his job. She’s the one who decided that I had anchorwoman potential—provided  I dispensed with the contact lenses.”

“So mutant gold sells more news?”

“We’ll see. She was certainly impressed by my solid gold connections to the new mutant administration of the Emory Foundation Trust.”

“Are you sure that Rebekah can handle this?”

“Rebekah is so organized, I’m beginning to think she should run for President. With Andrea Greenberg—what a ticket.” She paused, eyes shining.

“Whoa—take it easy.” Yosh grabbed her. “One story at a time. And here’s today’s story.”

The doors swooshed open onto the bright yellow and green vegetation in the atrium. Bromeliads in purple bloom encircled towering saguaro cacti. The atrium stretched across half an acre under a soaring, shielded roof through which filtered sunlight spilled down for five stories. The smooth stone floor bristled with metallic sculpture.

“Ernst. Trova. Picasso.” Melanie sighed with envy. “A nice little collection.”

And don’t forget to add Narlydda to the list.

The mindspeech twanged with amusement and pride.

Skerry sauntered around a stand of euphorbias. He looked jaunty in a pleated purple suit and turquoise headband.

“Cousins,” he said, nodding. “Good to see you. Yosh, I like that strange music you made for Lydda.”

“Thanks. Where is she?”

“Primping. Come see the sculpture.” He drew them toward the center of the garden. “Of course, it’s just the maquette. Three-quarter scale. The full-size statue is still being soldered and chased at the foundry. Siting date is May 28.”

Melanie gazed at the model with awe. It was a beautiful melding of textures, bronze and gold married to creamy ceramic, and all shaped in forms both abstract and somehow figurative. The sculpture was an expressionist mermaid—or was that merman? The face changed as Melanie walked around it, from male to female, from familiar to strange. Wait. Wasn’t that Skerry’s face smiling merrily at her now? But as she moved, the sculpture shifted, the face flowed and melted to reveal—could it be Tavia Emory ? And then, yes, it had to be—Victor Ashman’s hollow-eyed image gazed out sadly at her before subsiding into what could only be a sly self-portrait of the artist. A haunting melody seemed to emanate from the heart of the sculpture, elusive, at once sprightly and melancholy.

“Amazing,” she said.

“And it’s never the same,” Yosh said. “I’ve walked around it until I’m dizzy. Sometimes I see me in it. And sometimes, even you.”

“I expanded my concept somewhat,” said a female voice drily. “It seemed appropriate after everything that has happened.”

Narlydda walked toward them with stately grace. She wore a silvery wide-brimmed hat that framed her face nicely, adding contrast to her dark hair without obscuring the flash of white at her temple. Her gown consisted of layers of silk gauze in shifting tones of violet, green, and yellow. Her face was clear, unadorned.

“No mask?” Yosh asked.

“No mask,” Narlydda said, smiling.

“Congratulations,” Melanie said. “It’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to see Ashman’s face again. But somehow, it felt appropriate.”

Yosh grinned. “I’m just glad he turned out to be a regular mutant on drugs. Otherwise, I think we’d all be space dust by now.” His smile faded as he gazed at Narlydda’s sculpture. “Wonder what a real supermutant would be like.”

“Gods,” Melanie said. “Didn’t we come close enough to finding out this time? I think the whole idea of an evolved supermutant is just Mutant Council mumbo jumbo.”

Skerry frowned. “I wish I shared your opinion,” he said balefully. “But nature is relentless. There will be an evolved mutant, sooner or later. You can count on that.”

“Then let it be later rather than sooner,” Melanie said. “I’m sorry I brought up the subject.”

“Amen,” Narlydda added. She gave Skerry a sharp, silencing look. “By the way, Mel, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you both on your marriage. Or to ask about your brother—”

“Have you heard from Mike?” Skerry said eagerly. “I wanted to tell him what a great exit he made from that meeting. Warms my heart just to think about it.”

“Just an e-mail note from Bali. He’s there. With Kelly.” Melanie smiled. “I still don’t believe it.”

“You and me both.” Skerry looked away toward the door. “Lydda, the governor just arrived. It’s time to get rolling.”

“See you later. And Melanie, I haven’t forgotten my promise about that interview.” With a wink, Narlydda was gone.

Melanie scanned the atrium for her crew and found the bright red eye of the video camera blinking, at attention, by the sculpture. But she wasn’t ready to get on with business. Not quite yet.

“Yosh?”

“Yeah?”

“The sculpture is wonderful. And I may be biased. But I think that the music makes it even better.”

He smiled. “Let’s go home soon,” he said.