by Karen Haber
I was working late in the improvised office I’d arranged on the second floor of B.W. headquarters when Alanna came for a visit.
“I can’t believe that your door is open,” she said. “Feeling unusually expansive?”
“Actually, I was just after some fresh air.” I looked up at her warily. All memory of the recent harshness between us seemed to have left her, or else she was repressing it mercilessly. My half-sister radiated good will.
“Oh, honestly, Julian. How about a truce?” She waved her hand in surrender. “You know we’ve got to talk.”
“About what?”
She seemed surprised. “Why, Better World, of course. We have to make some decisions.”
“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”
“Yes, certainly. What I mean to say is we have to talk about Betty and her paranoid suspicions. She’s starting to infect people with her conspiracy theory.”
“That crazy idea that Rick was assassinated?” I shrugged. “Tell everybody to get inoculations against her.”
“I’m not joking, Julian. It’s serious to her. I think it’s Betty’s way of trying to work through her grief and anger.”
“Not bad analysis coming from an amateur.”
She smiled. “Everybody in this organization seems to be looking for someone to blame. There’s already been so much ugliness, so much violence and death. Now I’m afraid that Betty’s wild ideas will spread. She’ll be leading a mob before we can stop her, chasing down some poor, innocent victim.”
“Is it that bad? I had no idea she had gotten so fanatic about it.”
“That’s why you’ve got to talk to her.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re the only one she’ll listen to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Come on, Julian. Even you can’t be completely oblivious to the way she looks at you. Ever since the night of Rick’s death she’s developed a huge case of hero worship for you. You’re the only one she respects. You’ve got to make her listen to reason, Julian. Before she becomes a major problem around here.”
“Well, if you think it’ll do any good I’ll go see her.” I peered up at the mountain of paperwork on my desk. “As soon as I get a free minute.”
I realize now that Alanna wanted me to do more than ease Betty’s suspicions. She wanted me to send Betty away. But that wasn’t exactly what happened.
The next morning around eleven o’clock I took a break, stretched my legs, and went to find Betty. She was in the library, watching a portascreen. I peered over her shoulder so I could see what she was viewing: it was a tape of that terrible night in the Roman arena that she was running at half-speed, stopping occasionally to make notes.
“A little light entertainment, Betts?”
“Oh, Julian.” Flustered, she switched off the screen. “You should have called me if you wanted me. I would have come right away.”
“No need. I thought I would come see you.”
A look of pleasure, even awe, came over her. It confused and saddened me.
“I’m so glad you were looking for me, Julian. I’ve never told you adequately how marvelous you were that terrible night—”
“Betty, you’ve said plenty already.”
“No, it’s not enough. You just don’t know. You don’t realize, yet. But you are truly blessed, just as Rick was.” She grabbed my hand and, before I could pull away, kissed the back of it. Her eyes were deep blue and as fixed as those of any fanatic I had ever treated.
“Hey, cut it out, Betty. You’re embarrassing me. And you’re wrong.”
I waited for her to chuckle, maybe even blush. But she continued to smile at me with that same fixed, awful look on her face.
“I know that you’ll lead us to the assassins, Julian. You’ll help us achieve justice. Together, we’ll hunt down Rick’s murderers and avenge him.”
Could this really be the same Betty Smithson who had regarded me with a fishy glare at our very first meeting? I tried but failed to find that shrewd woman in this blissed-out zombie. Betty’s delusion about me was as big as the Sangre de Cristos. What could I do? Reasoning was pointless.
Using a telepathic probe, I reached gently into her mind and tried to get some sense of the scale of her obsession. My heart sank as I realized that she was completely lost in her paranoid beliefs. What would Rick have done, I wondered. How would he have healed her? And then I knew.
She thought I was Rick’s chosen successor. All right. Fine. She had certainly elected me to that post. Then I would act the part she had assigned to me. In fact, I would go one better. For Betty, I would become my brother.
I intensified the mental connection until I could create an image in Betty’s mind. Then I conjured up a picture of my brother and, acting as ventriloquist, had him give her a little talk.
Hello, Betts.
She gasped. “Who?”
Don’t you recognize me anymore?
“Rick, is that you?”
Who else? Betts, I can’t stay long but I wanted to talk to you.
“Yes, yes, please, Rick. Go on.”
You’ve got to listen to Julian, Betts. He’s got your best interests and those of Better World at heart. I don’t like all this anger and hatred I see in you. You have to forgive. Didn’t I teach you that? Understanding and love, Betts, not revenge. It’s the only way.
“But the murderers, Rick—”
There were no murderers, Betts. It was just my time to go. I wasn’t assassinated. Do you understand?
“I don’t know.”
I intensified the connection a bit and inserted a touch of post-hypnotic suggestion.
Betts, that’s not good enough. You must accept. Forgive. Let me go. Remember, understanding and love. It’s the only way.
“The only way.” Her voice was deep and slow, as though she were almost sedated.
Right. You’ve got it now. So no more of this weird conspiracy shit, okay?
“But …”
No buts. Hear me?
“Whatever you say, Rick.”
And listen to Julian. He’s the boss from now on.
“Of course.”
Okay then. So long, Betts. Take care of yourself and have a good, happy life.
With that, I put her into a light sleep and broke the mental connection.
Five minutes later she awoke. The robotic, glassy-eyed fanaticism was gone. In its place was pure, shining adoration. It would have to do, at least for now. I didn’t dare fiddle around with her mind any further.
“Julian,” she whispered. “I’ve had a vision, a wondrous vision. Rick was here. He spoke to me.”
“That’s fine, Betty. What did he say?”
Her eyes glowed. “That you were in charge from now on. That I was to listen to you about everything.”
“And do you feel comfortable with that?”
“Oh yes, yes. Completely.” She grabbed my hand, but I pulled away before she could kiss it again.
“Well, that’s fine,” I said. I was almost amused by my solution to Betty’s paranoia. But it saddened me as well. I had lost a friend and gained a worshipper. “I’ve got to run now but we’ll talk later. Do you feel all right?”
“Oh, Julian, I feel wonderful.”
As I left the room I could swear that she blew me a kiss.
Once back in my office, I checked my screen for messages, but there was no word from Star. Feeling a bit put out, I tried her number. No answer. Well, she was probably out holding a healing dance ritual. I admit that I was a bit jealous of the amount of attention she lavished on Mundo Melhor. Well, she would be here soon. Not soon enough, but soon.
I distracted myself with an analysis of my unconventional therapeutic approach to Betty’s problem. Not a bad solution, I thought. I was feeling a bit pleased with myself. But when I told Alanna about what I had done, she was less sanguine.
“I suggested that you calm Betty down,” she said. “Not buoy her up. Don’t you think you went j
ust a wee bit too far with your intervention? She’s practically polishing your footprints.”
“I can’t help that,” I said. “Besides, it should wear off eventually.”
“No matter,” Alanna said. She rubbed her eyes wearily. “In the long run it will be to our advantage, anyway.”
“Meaning?”
“Why, the continued health and prosperity of Better World, of course.”
“Hey, just a minute here. I thought we were temporarily administering this place until things had calmed down enough for us to shut it down completely.”
“Is that what you thought?” Alanna smiled in a condescending way. “I had no idea. How could you imagine that we would ever close Better World? No, Julian, not ever. We’ve got to manage it as Rick would have wanted it done.”
“Hold on, Alanna—”
“Who else is better suited to the task, Julian? We both knew him best. We are both of his blood.”
“That doesn’t mean a damned thing. I’m a telepath, you’re a telekinete, and between us we couldn’t cure one leper.”
“You’ll do it, Julian.” Her tone implied that the answer was oh-so-simple, only an idiot like me couldn’t see it. “You have to carry on Rick’s work,” Alanna said. “You’re the only one who can do it.”
I stared at her. “Me? Why not you?”
“I’m not a telepath or I would. You have to do it, Julian.”
“Are you crazy, too?” I said. “I can’t do miracles. Listen to me, Alanna. I’m the other brother, remember? Just your average mutant. In any case, I don’t want to lead a cult. I already have a profession and clientele waiting for me on the other side of this country.”
She shrugged off my arguments as though she hadn’t even heard me. A strange light burned fiercely in her golden eyes, unnerving me. “You can hold sharings—you’ve already proven that. And as for the other hocus-pocus, well, we can manage things somehow with some vid magic.”
“Fake miracles? Alanna, I’m beginning to believe that you’re really serious about this.”
“I am, Julian. Deadly serious. What else is left to me now but Better World? It’s the only part of Rick that I can still touch.” Her voice wavered dangerously, and for a moment her face crumpled in grief. But she regained control instantly and put the steely mask right back in place. “We have to do it, Julian. For Rick. Don’t you see that?”
“I see that you think we have to do it, for you. And I also see that you’ve become as deranged by sorrow as Betty has, but you’re denying it.”
“Don’t patronize me, Julian. I know what I’m doing and I want you in on it. Rick would want it, too.”
“You know I can’t hold sharings,” I said. “Not the way that Rick did. To begin with, I would need half a dozen telepaths to assist me. More, if the crowd was really big.” I couldn’t believe I was actually discussing this. I stared across the table, trying to break through to her. “Alanna, listen to me. This makes no sense, no sense at all. What’s more, I don’t want to do it. I have no intention of doing it. Got that?”
“We’ll provide whatever you need.”
“You’re not listening.”
“Julian, we must maintain continuity. And control.”
“Why?”
Now her eyes flashed. “How can you ask me that? Don’t you care about Rick at all? About his legacy?” She leaned closer. “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I think you were jealous of him all the time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I was getting uncomfortable with the direction the discussion was taking.
“You’re probably relieved that Rick’s gone. You can’t wait to shovel Better World right after him into the grave.”
“That’s not true!”
“No?” she said. “Then prove it. Prove that you care about Rick and what he tried to accomplish. Don’t make a mockery of his life, Julian. Help me. Don’t you want to help people?”
“Of course I do. I’m a therapist. A healer.”
“Then heal. I need you. Rick needed you but you turned away. Don’t turn away again.”
“Forget it, Alanna. You can’t run Better World without a resident miracle worker. And I don’t want the job.”
She shot me a look of pure fury as she got to her feet. “I should have known you’d be heartless, just as you always were in the past. You don’t care about Rick, not at all. You never did.” And with that she was out the door and gone. But her words remained, etching their way into my conscience.
In those rare moments when I was undistracted by the needs of Better World I tried repeatedly to call Star. She had never returned my last call, and in growing alarm I had attempted to reach her by screen, by phone, and finally by registered letter, but without any luck. She seemed to have vanished completely and I was sick with worry over her.
So when the airmail letter arrived with a postmark from Rio de Janeiro, I tore it open eagerly. Inside there was a packet with a recorded vidnote.
I activated it but instead of Star’s familiar features a dark-haired man with a thick mustache appeared onscreen. “I am Dr. Juan Moreira,” he said. “Star Cecilia’s cousin.
“Amigo, I am terribly sorry to have to tell you this. But my cousin Star with whom you seem to have formed a close friendship was killed by the police during rioting.” His large brown eyes stared out at me sympathetically. “As you no doubt realize, there was much violence here after the death of your Desert Prophet. I have sent you the formal death notice, and a picture of my cousin. She was a fine woman. My deepest condolences. Tem a bravo.”
The screen went blank. With numb mind and hands I examined the other documents: the packet contained a formal certification of the death of one Star Cecilia Nicolau from a mortal blow sustained while resisting arrest. The date was several weeks after Rick died. Behind that was a holophoto of Star, smiling brightly.
Star dead? I felt as though the breath had frozen in my chest.
No. It was impossible. She was too vital, too beautiful to die. I crumpled the paper in my fist, trying to squeeze the facts into nothingness, into unbeing. Star, please don’t be dead. Please. It could not, must not be true. This paper is a lie. Everything is a lie. Only my love for you is real.
I could see her before me, laughing and dancing, naked, in the firelight, alive and fearless.
For a moment I fought to hold on to that vision. Then it faded, and the truth seared me, body and soul. Choking, weeping, I curled into a ball around the pain. Star was gone. I would never see her again. My love, I thought. I abandoned you. And now I’ve lost you forever.
All these deaths, all this destruction. No, I can’t bear it. No more, please. Please.
I ran from the room, from the building, blind with grief, out into the cold night and into the cold city. I wandered through the ruins, lost and soulless.
Chimneys jutted in the gloom like headstones among the ashes and desolated buildings. Deep shadows cut across the streets and crumbling walls, giving the place an almost prehistoric cast. By day Better City hummed with activity, a lively hive filled with eager bees rebuilding their future. But after dark the ghosts came out to play.
I drifted, haunted and shaken, through a gray and hopeless endtime of the spirit, questioning all that I had believed in and valued. Rick was dead, and try as I might, I could deny his loss no longer. It had been a cruel amputation indeed and I was too much of a healer and doctor to deny the trauma I had experienced. The ruse of my busyness had worked for a time but Star’s death had forced me, finally, to confront myself.
Beloved, why have you gone? And why am I still here?
My thoughts trailed off into hopeless tears. I was alone, truly alone.
In the midst of my weeping, Alanna’s words came back to taunt me. Did I want Rick to be gone and forgotten? Was that what I truly desired? To bury everything that had ever meant anything at all to me?
Yes. Yes, I did. I wanted to run screaming from the past, to pretend that I had been born this very moment, fresh and innoce
nt, without painful memories and poignant ties to other places and people. But at the same time I desperately wanted to preserve every memory, to anoint every scar inflicted by time. To remember Star with love and wonder. To honor Rick. He had been a magnificent anomaly. A miracle worker. A murderer. And my brother.
What, I wondered, do I owe you, Rick? What do I owe to you, to the past, and to the future? Should I tear down Better World or build it up bigger than before?
As I wandered, heartworn, weary, I found myself at the gates to the Roman arena. Slowly I climbed up the center aisle, step by step, until I was inches away from Rick’s tomb.
Rick, I’m scared.
All I could hear was the sound of the wind whistling through the stadium and my own blood pounding through my veins. But then I heard something else. It sounded like a rusty voice, whispering from beneath the cold marble.
Scared? Of what, little brother?
Making the wrong move.
That’s been your problem all your life, hasn’t it? You’ve clung to your rules and regulations so that you wouldn’t have to think for yourself.
And now I don’t know what to do.
Do what feels right.
I thought that I should close down Better World. That it was dangerous.
But how do you feel?
As though this place serves a purpose. Everywhere I go, I see people working busy and happy. Better World gives them hope. Someplace to be. Something to do.
And?
Well, isn’t that worthwhile? Doesn’t it provide something that nobody else can? Comfort. Connection. Better World makes good on that promise, which is more than any three organized religions can say. And there doesn’t have to be any incense, any priestly caste. All it seems to take is people.
Now you’re talking, little brother.
But, considering what a powerful force Better World can be, I don’t know if I can control it. Or if I should try.
Bullshit. There you go with your rules again. Shoulds don’t count, little brother. What’s important is comfort and connection, understanding and harmony. People don’t want that old-time nonmutant religious mumbo-jumbo. And they don’t want Mutant Council bullshit either. They need something new. A synthesis of the two. Bring them together, Julian. Bring them home. And heal yourself.