by Haber, Karen
“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.
And as the camera rolled, he kissed her jubilantly in the spring sunshine.