by Haber, Karen
“You’ve got the supermutant blues?”
“Worse than that. You know that ‘job’ I mentioned?”
He nodded. “It’s come to that?”
“I’ve sent Skerry. …”
“Skerry! Are you crazy?” Astori glared at her.
“Che, you know he’s one of our strongest telepaths.”
“And most unpredictable. By the Book, I thought you’d send a group of multis, at the very least. Not one crazy renegade!”
“A group would be too conspicuous. Besides, multis are usually weak telepaths, and with Ashman, we need esper power. I thought one clever telepath could handle it.”
“But now you’re worried. Well, I don’t blame you.”
Rebekah began to regret the call. But it was too late for regrets, wasn’t it? “Che, I didn’t call to debate this. I called because we need a contingency plan.”
“In case this doesn’t work?”
“Exactly. I’m beginning to think we’d better have a backup team ready in case Skerry fails.”
Astori studied her silently for a moment. “You realize what you’re saying?” he asked. “That would mean another aggressive assault against Ashman after he’s aware of our intentions. God knows how he’d respond.”
“All the more reason to be prepared for it,” Rebekah said. “I’m going to call a few people here on the West Coast this morning. I suggest you do the same on your end.”
“What about the nonmutants? The military?”
Rebekah shook her head. “Let’s try to handle this in-house, first.”
“I don’t know. If we can’t deal with Ashman, aren’t we exposing the normals to a terrible risk without warning?”
“If I know my generals, they’ve been in meetings ever since Ashman revealed himself,” Rebekah said. “They’ll be as ready for him as they can be. No need to encourage them further. Just get our own teams ready.”
“Right. And hope we won’t need them.”
“Amen. I’ll talk to you soon, Che.”
Kelly leaned into the payscreen, waiting for her call to go through. Come on, answer, she thought.
A mutant clad in blight green healer’s robes floated by to her left. She moved closer to the screen, hoping for privacy.
She had to reach Heyran Landon before the warrant for Michael was activated. He had a grace period of twenty-four hours in which to comply. After that, he could be taken into custody at any time. She had a sudden crazy image of her fighting off the federal marshals, trading laser pistol shots. Michael’s moll. Just what she’d always wanted to be.
“There is no answer. Do you wish to leave a message?”
“No. I mean, yes!” Quick. What to say? “This is Kelly McLeod. Urgent that Colonel Landon deactivate warrant for Michael Ryton’s arrest. I repeat—”
“Kelly?” It was Landon’s voice. But the screen remained dark. Blocked.
“Yessir.”
“Got me out of a sonic shower. This had better be good.”
“Sorry, sir. Did you know they’d issued an automatic warrant for Michael Ryton’s arrest?”
“Warrant? For Ryton? Why?”
“He left the investigation because of family business.”
“So you told me. How serious is it?”
“His father is dying.”
“I see.” The irritation faded from Landon’s voice. “Ryton’s in trouble right up to his eyebrows.”
“That’s why I called.” Kelly tried not to sound too eager. “I was hoping you could do something about the warrant.”
“Do something? I’m not a magician,” Landon said. “Kelly, are you certain that you want to get involved in this? I remember a couple of days ago you felt considerably different.”
“I know.” How could she explain how she felt? She wasn’t even sure herself. “I’m already involved. Here.”
“Where are you? Dream Haven?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. I’m surprised they let you in.”
“I insisted.”
Landon chuckled. “I’m sure you did. Okay, I’ll see what I can do about this warrant, Kelly. But if Ryton didn’t request that he be excused due to a personal emergency, I don’t know that I can help him. So don’t get your hopes up. But keep in touch. Landon out.”
Keep my hopes up, Kelly thought. Yes. I’ll try. If only I can think of some way to do that. Or maybe I can find some nice mutant around here to levitate them for me.
She turned from the screen phone and peered down the quiet, pink-tiled hospital corridor. A secret medical complex for mutants, she thought. For their old, their infirm, their dying clan members. What a strange place.
A nurse and an orderly, dressed in neutral blue tones, levitated past her toward the upper floors. Their golden eyes sparkled as they turned to stare at the nonmutant in their midst.
What am I doing here? Chasing a dream?
Slowly, Kelly wandered down the corridor until she came to a concession room. She moved through the sliding doors and walked toward the nearest empty table. Around her, mutants were sipping gem-colored stimulants or levitating food trays from dispensers to tables.
Kelly ducked as a plate of choba salad sailed toward her at eye level. This was all becoming a little too much. Not that she was a stranger to levitation. She’d floated herself, at zero-g. But a room full of mutants twirling glasses in midair made her feel as though she’d stepped into the center ring of the circus. She saw an empty seat and sat down gratefully. Right next to Jena Ryton.
Wonderful, she thought. Just who I was looking for.
Jena let her cup sink to the green table top with a clatter. Her eyes flashed angrily. “Why don’t you get out of here?” she said. “I don’t know why you bothered to come here to begin with. No one wants you here. There’s really no room for you. Can’t you see that? Aren’t you embarrassed? I would be, in your place.”
“Don’t tell me how to act,” Kelly snapped. “You have absolutely no idea how you’d react in my place. And I’ll bet you don’t really have much of a clue about how to behave given your own set of circumstances.”
“What?!”
Around them, mutants turned to stare.
Kelly knew she’d gone too far. But Jena’s baiting had pushed her over the edge. “Why weren’t you with Michael at Armstrong?” she demanded. “Why was he all alone, in desperate trouble? How could you abandon him like that?”
“I don’t have to sit here and be interrogated,” Jena replied. “Especially by an outsider.” She gathered up her jacket and walked out, head held high.
Kelly sank down into her hard acrylic seat, aware of every golden eye in the room trained upon her. Bravo, she thought. Open mouth and insert both feet. So speaks the hero of Moonstation. Perhaps it’s time for me to go before I make things worse.
No. Please, stay.
Mindspeech.
Kelly looked around, but the mutants in the room were studiously ignoring her now. Try as she might, she couldn’t locate the speaker.
“Who?” she said softly.
Sue Li. Meet me in the lobby in five minutes. Please.
“All right.”
Gratefully, she hurried out of the room, eager to get away from the chilly atmosphere. For a moment she was tempted to keep right on walking out the front doors of the building toward the nearest taxi stop.
But no. Michael’s mother wanted to talk to her. What did she want? Kelly decided to stay until she found out.
Yosh opened his byes. He felt as though he’d been asleep for a week. His head was spinning. Gingerly, he sat up. This was worse than the worst hangover he’d ever had, and he didn’t want to think about that, if he could help it. He stood up with extra care.
“Ooph!”
At least he was on his feet now, even if he was hanging on to the wall for support. Funny texture to the wall, though. Soft, almost velvety. He looked closely at it. Turquoise. He didn’t remember any turquoise walls. The color made his head hurt even more. He look
ed away.
Where was he?
And where was Melanie? That pretty reporter. At least he remembered her.
I’m Yosh, he told himself. I’m a musician. I work for … for Emory Foundation. I must be someplace in the Emory Foundation headquarters. And I was with Melanie, pretty Melanie, when … what happened? Where is she? Where is everybody?
He remembered a bustling complex filled with busy golden-eyed folk and the noise of ringing screens. A sharp-faced woman with gold-tipped hair and glittering eyes: Tavia Emory. Where was she?
His legs felt rubbery and unreliable, but he managed to stumble out of the room and down the hall, moving slowly. He passed rolls of blue carpeting. Abandoned carpenter’s tools.
I must be in the new wing. And that means I should be able to find my studio. Get some coffee. Clear my head.
He began to remember bits and pieces of what had happened. A man with silvery eyes and a tinny laugh: Ashman, the supermutant. A tall, elegant woman whose skin was light green. Narlydda. And with these memories came a growing sense of uneasiness. Something bad had happened. He knew it.
Yosh leaned heavily against a doorpad for support, then jumped with surprise as the doors sprang open.
“It’s about time,” said a sardonic male voice.
The voice’s owner was a tall, muscular, bearded mutant. He sauntered out of the room and sized Yosh up with a quick, surprised glance.
“You’re not Ashman. Who are you?” he said. “And why aren’t you asleep? Everybody else is.”
Just what I need, Yosh thought. An angry mutant asking crazy questions. “I was asleep until a few minutes ago,” he said. “My name’s Yosh. I work for Emory Foundation. And who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Name’s Skerry. I’m looking for somebody.”
“So am I,” Yosh said quickly. “You haven’t seen a mutant girl around here, have you? Sort of Caucasian and Oriental mix. Her name is Melanie.”
“No, I haven’t. … Did you say Melanie?” The bearded mutant stared at him sharply. “What’s her last name?”
“Ryton, I think.”
“Jesus, it’s old home week at the spook house,” the stranger muttered. “No, I haven’t seen Melanie Ryton for, let’s see, maybe fifteen years. Since she was a kid. But I know her brother. Is she here?”
“She was. But she’s not the one you’re looking for, is she?”
“Nope. I’m interested in a tall, green lady. …”
“Sounds like Narlydda,” Yosh said.
“You’ve seen her?” Skerry grabbed his arm. “How long ago? When?”
“Hey, go easy.” Yosh winced and pulled himself free of the mutant’s powerful grasp. “I think it was last night. But it could have been two weeks ago. I don’t know how long I’ve been out of commission. Ashman …”
“Where is he?”
“Wish I knew. If I did, I’d bet we’d find Melanie and Narlydda. I think that he took them away after he knocked me out. How long were you in that room?”
“Hard to say, although I think it hasn’t been longer than two days. Nice little mutant trap there.”
“That’s Ashman’s doing. I’m sure of it.”
“You’ve met Ashman?” Skerry asked.
“Oh, yeah.” He shuddered at the memory.
“What’s your take on him?”
Yosh rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “He’s unpredictable. Kind of high-strung. Arrogant. Those powers of his are hard to believe.”
“But you’ve seen him use them?” The tall mutant stared at him intently.
“Yes. He seems very powerful.”
“Let’s hope he’s not too powerful.” Skerry smiled wryly. “How about we team up and look for him? Considering that he seems to have made off with both of our ladies.”
“Fine with me,” Yosh said. “But I’m not much use against a mutant or supermutant.” He held up his hands. “I’m great with a claviflute, if that helps.”
“Try this.” Skerry handed him a laser rifle. “That’s cocked for medium power. I’m going to try out a long-range esper probe. If Ashman comes running, I may not be able to hold him for long. Use your own judgment, but try to hit him, not me.”
Yosh caught the matte gray metal weapon. It was so large that he could barely hold it with both hands.
“I’ve never used one of these,” he said uncertainly. What was he getting himself into?
“They tell me the best way is to learn by doing.” Skerry grinned. “Let’s hope you don’t need too many lessons.”
He closed his eyes. Waited. Cursed. Opened his eyes.
“All I’m getting are echoes. They’re not in this wing. Maybe not even in the building.” He set off down the corridor at a good clip. “C’mon. If you’re coming.”
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“I caught a bounce off of some screen that was used recently. Maybe I can trace Ashman if I can get my hands on the screen data for the past forty-eight hours.”
Yosh followed him through the corridors of Emory Foundation until they came to a large, screen-filled room.
“This is perfect,” Skerry said. He reached for the keypad. Pressed it. The screens remained dark.
“Let me,” Yosh said, and brushed past him. He tapped in Tavia’s code. Oddly, only a partial menu came up. “Hmm. Strange. Something’s blocking the main menu.”
“Figures. Do we have any outside-access capacity?”
“I think so.” Yosh punched in his own code. “Yeah. Here. We can call out on this.”
“Good.” The bearded mutant punched a special code in, waited, then smiled as his call went through.
“You have reached the home of Narlydda …”said a pleasant female voice. Yosh recognized it as the simulacrum that Narlydda had named Anne Verland.
“Code Y6Cadmium Blue,” Skerry said.
“Your identity is confirmed. All data files are open,” Anne Verland replied. “Data search available.”
“Anne, can you work a screen-to-screen search?”
“Affirmative. Specify data requested.”
“All activity on premises within past forty-eight hours.”
“Working.”
“And Anne?”
“Yes, Skerry?”
“What day is it?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
.
Senator Andrea Greenberg brushed a strand of dark red hair back into place, straightened her silver gray suit, and closed her screencase with a snap.
That’s it for the day, she thought. And good thing, too. These committee meetings are deadly. It’s a wonder I get any work done at all. I should have had my head examined before I agreed to serve on Appropriations.
With a wave to her staff she was out the door, and in seconds, the private elevator had whisked her up to the skimmer port. She walked out of the heated elevator cab into weak, wintry sunshine and a crowd of reporters. Her red hair danced in the chill breeze.
“Senator Greenberg, any comment on your connection to the Ryton, Greene and Davis spacedome snafu?”
“Senator Greenberg, are you worried that you’ll be linked to the substandard production of dome parts?”
“Could we get a sound byte for the nine o’clock news in Brisbane, Senator?”
“Over here, Senator—”
“Please, Senator Greenberg, your opinion on Michael Ryton’s attempts to undercut the space industry—”
Michael Ryton! My God, she thought, I haven’t heard his name in years. What in the world is going on here? Andie spun on her heel and stared angrily right into the heart of the braying pack.
“Now what’s this?” she demanded imperiously. “And one at a time, please. If you can’t run your ambush in an orderly fashion, I won’t answer anybody’s question.”
A blond-haired, green-eyed woman stepped forward. Andie recognized her as the Tri-Com anchorwoman, Lucia Silva. “Please, Senator,” she said, “we’d like your reaction to the revelations concerning the manufacture of substandard pa
rts for Moonstation.”
“What revelations?”
“Well, Congresswoman Kate Fisher said that Michael Ryton’s testimony before the subcommittee was clearly self-incriminating.”
“Congresswoman Fisher is well known for her antibusiness sentiments,” Andie said. “I’m not familiar with her comments on this issue.”
“But you are familiar with Michael Ryton?”
“Yes. I met him and his father during Eleanor Jacobsen’s term of office.”
“Do you support his efforts at deregulating safety measures?”
“What are these measures you’re referring to?”
“The lobbying efforts to prevent additional safeguards—”
“That was more than fifteen years ago,” Andie said. “And the legislation targeted was for a specific project, already well covered by safety measures. As I recall, it had nothing to do with Moonstation.”
“Congresswoman Fisher says—”
“Kate Fisher should do her witchhunting someplace else, not on my time. And not with the taxpayers’ money!” Andie regretted the words as soon as she’d uttered them. She’d let her temper get the best of her. Her husband, Joel, had warned her about that. But it was too late. Besides, Kate Fisher was a thorn in her side, and had been since Andie had won her senate seat five years ago.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have nothing further to say.” She whipped around and strode toward her skimmer, daring any foolhardy reporter to pursue her. Once safe inside, she locked the doors and leaned back on the broad, honey-colored leather seat.
“Home.”
At the sound of her voice, the skimmer sprang to life, humming gently as it cleared the exit ramp.
Michael Ryton, she thought. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?
She sped past federal buildings, their pale marble looking ghostly in the fading sunlight. Traffic was unusually thin, and in minutes, she was pulling into the driveway of her Georgetown co-op.
Joel was waiting for her in the kitchen. He was wearing a red sweater and jeans. His gray hair curled gently in a cap around his head.
She gave him a kiss and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Is that Thai garlic noodles I smell?”
“Your favorite.”
“Remind me again to congratulate myself for marrying the Post’s food editor.”