by Karen Haber
The ground floor was dark, illuminated only by a skylight. There were carpeted stairs in front of me and I climbed slowly, feeling an arthritic twinge in my right knee.
Alanna was waiting for me in the center of Narlydda’s former studio. She sat there, queenly, in a wing-back webchair. Her face was calm but her golden eyes glittered with anger.
“I thought I’d made myself clear when last we met,” she said. “I don’t want to see you.”
“But I need your help.”
“Your problems don’t interest me, Julian. I assume you’ll pay for the repair of both the gate and the door?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Good. Then I suggest you leave before the police get here—”
“Wait,” I said. “Please listen to me. Give me at least five minutes. That’s all I want.”
“I don’t see where you have the right to ask me for anything at all, Julian. You broke into my house and now you expect me to just sit here quietly and listen to you? Have you lost your mind?”
She stood up, a slim majestic figure dressed in black with one long silver earring dangling like a hinged icicle from her left ear.
“Alanna, I refuse to believe that you don’t care about Better World.” I pointed at the wall, at a slim, graceful hatrack made from polished brown wood. It was empty save for a battered old black cowboy hat. Rick’s hat. During all this time in exile Alanna had kept Rick’s hat close by her.
She looked at the hat, colored slightly, but said nothing. As we locked gazes I could hear sirens in the distance, growing louder, nearer.
“Alanna, if not for me, then for Rick.”
The screech of skimmers coming to a sudden halt cut through the air. Footsteps crunched over gravel, then over stone. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later the room was filled with police.
“Don’t move,” said a strapping blond-haired officer. He put his hand on the holster of his laser pistol. “You reported a prowler attempting a forced entry, ma’am?”
“That’s right,” Alanna said. “And it’s about time you got here. Who knows what he might have tried?”
“Let’s go,” said the cop, jerking his chin at me. “We’ll read you your rights on the way to the station house.” Two of the officers closed in on me.
“Alanna,” I said, “don’t do this.”
“You should have known better than to come here.”
My hands were wrenched behind my back and I felt the cool sting of metal as the cuffs were sealed around my wrists.
They jerked me out of the room toward the stairs.
I sent a desperate image at Alanna: that of a recreation park in which an actor costumed as Rick capered and pranced like a trained chimpanzee in front of gawking tourists while souvenir stands hawked masks of Alanna and me.
That’s what you’ll see. That’s what they’ll turn Better World into. They’ll make fools of us all, Alanna. Destroy Rick’s legacy and distort his vision. Do you really want that?
I knew by the stricken look on her face that I had finally reached soft tissue. I pressed harder.
A travesty. That’s what they’ll make of your love for Rick. They’ll sell little hearts with holo pictures of you and my brother in them, kissing. Is that what you want? To become an exhibit in a corporate sideshow to which bureaucrats charge admission and strangers come to point and stare? Think carefully, Alanna. This is your last chance. They’re already clearing the land for it. I saw the bulldozers—
“Wait,” Alanna said abruptly. “Officers, wait, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t take him away.”
The cops looked at her in surprise.
“Let him go,” Alanna said. “It’s all right. I don’t want to make a fuss.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, we saw considerable signs of disruptor damage on both your gate and door. Are you sure you aren’t making a mistake here? If this man is armed and dangerous—”
“I told you,” she said, “it’s a misunderstanding. I won’t press charges. It’s a family matter.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”
At that, the man in charge gave her a sour look. “Domestic problems. Nothing I hate worse. Nothing more dangerous for the police.” He shrugged. “Let’s go.”
They released me from the handcuffs and vanished down the stairs. A minute later I heard the sound of a skimmer engine revving and taking off.
In the newly restored silence Alanna had a difficult time meeting my eyes. She sank down into her chair, head averted. “All right,” she said huskily. “Make your case.”
“Alanna,” I said. “I came because I’m desperate. Ginny Quinlan, the chief financial officer, and Don Torrance, the city manager, are pushing me out.”
“What?”
“It’s a coup. I told you before that they were planning something. And it’s happening right now. If you don’t help me stop them, I’ll have nowhere else to turn.” I thought that would please her, and yes, a small triumphant smile crossed her lips for a moment. I was willing to concede her that. “You’ve got to help me, Alanna.”
“I don’t see why.”
“I know you’re angry at me for the way I treated you. And I was wrong, okay? I know that now. I’m sorry. Would it help if I got down on my knees?”
Alanna smiled openly and derisively. “Julian, you could stand on your head for all the good it would do you. It’s too late. How can we possibly come to any sort of understanding now?”
“Why did you make the cops let me go?”
“Because you frightened me with your telepathic tricks.”
“Bullshit. You rescued me because you knew I was showing you the truth, and you couldn’t take it. Despite what you say to me, I know you still care, Alanna. I know you don’t want Better World dismembered by a bunch of corporate raiders and accountants.”
“You’re living in some fantasy, Julian. Better World should be closed down.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “How can you say that? Once you fought like hell to stay a part of Better World.”
“Yes, but I was wrong—young and foolish.” She waved her hand in some sort of dismissal. “When I realized that I let go.”
“If you let go, then why is Rick’s hat still hanging on your wall?”
“Allow an old woman some sentiment, Julian. I’m not entirely made of stone, you know.”
“No?” I reached toward her, pleading. “Then prove it. Help me save Better World.”
“Better World has been a distortion of mutant values, mutant skills, and a source of social discord for generations. The sooner it collapses, the better.”
I dropped my hands. Her smugness made me furious. Why hadn’t I brain-burned her long ago? If I had kept her under control to begin with I might not be going through this now. But no, I had to remain calm, must not give in to my desire to shout Alanna down, to punish her for this betrayal.
“How does it feel, Julian?” she said, grinning like a witch. “The shoe is finally on your own foot. How do you like it? How does it fit?”
“You’re the one who’s crazy,” I said. “You’re poisoned by resentment.”
“Look, Julian, I saved you from the police. But if you don’t leave of your own accord right now I’m going to throw you out of here. On your head.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “Please, wait.” I struggled with myself furiously, trying to find an argument that would win her trust, sway her somehow. I knew she cared. I didn’t believe her for a minute when she said she wanted to see Better World destroyed. But what would Rick have done? What would he have said? His voice was so faint in my memory. I didn’t know.
“You must listen to me,” I said. “Please.”
“I’ve listened to plenty already and all I see here is an old man who’s frightened of losing his power and prestige. Why don’t you just give in, Julian? Why not bow to the inevitable? Retire and write your memoirs.”
/> “That’s your solution,” I said. “You turned your back on us after you couldn’t have your own way. Perhaps it was you who were after the glory, Alanna. You were trying to escape the shadow of your mother.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s cheap armchair psychology, Julian. I expect better of you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not at my best right now.”
“It’s your church,” she said. “You wanted it that way. Fix it yourself or lose it.”
I slammed my hand against the wall in frustration. “It’s not my church,” I said. “It’s Rick’s. And it’s yours. And mine. It is for everybody who needs it—mutants, nonmutants. Everyone. You can’t fool me, Alanna. I just won’t believe that you don’t care.”
“Telepathic eavesdropping, Julian?”
“I don’t need telepathy. Just some knowledge of the nature of the human heart. Have you so thoroughly buried Rick that you no longer care what happens to his memory?”
“He was dangerous. An anomaly.”
“Yes, of course he was. But we loved him, didn’t we? Didn’t we, Alanna? Why else have we remained as we are, two solitary figures in our early old age, never marrying, never connecting with anyone else?”
“I’ve been too busy.”
“You haven’t been too busy. And neither have I. It’s because Rick took all we had to give of love and shaped it into something else. He shaped us into something else. Something wild and unexpected that nobody could predict. Something that benefits mutants and nonmutants, that unites and nurtures them. Isn’t that what we’ve been striving toward from the first Mutant Council meeting? From the very first page of the Book to the last?”
Alanna opened her mouth to disagree but I swept on and over her. “Rick gave us something wonderful, something magical, and left us here to tend it, which I have been trying my best to do all my life. I’ve just done what seemed obvious and natural, trying to ride a tsunami, to steer it whenever possible. I’m not power-mad, no matter what you may think. Please, Alanna. Don’t turn away from me. Not now. I need you. Rick needs you. And everyone who believes in Better World. Don’t let it become just some corporate monolith more interested in profits and private agendas—another cynical cult milking its hapless members of their savings.”
I was winded from that speech. But Alanna, it seemed, was just moving into high gear.
She stood up, her eyes glittered with anger. “Now that you’re weak and old you need me. But you chased me away, before.”
“Because I disagreed with what you were doing with Rick’s Way. Because I feared what you were planning to do. Which was pointless, considering that you published whatever you pleased anyway. You got what you wanted, Alanna.”
A flash of real fury hardened her features. “Not what I wanted. All I’ve been is a caretaker, Julian. First for my mother’s artwork and reputation, and then for Rick and his words. I’ve spent my entire life walking around somebody else’s museum dusting off the display cases. When I die they’ll probably stuff me and put me out with the rest of the relics.” She paused and it seemed that her anger lessened a bit. “After all, a museum is just a church for art. And Better World is the museum for Rick.”
“That’s the way you see it,” I said. “And that’s what caused the trouble between us, originally. I saw the potential for it to be more, much more: a living institution for healing. That’s why I’m fighting so hard for it now.”
“That’s fine, Julian, even noble. But what about Rick? Don’t you, of all people, think you owe Rick anything?”
“Of course,” I said. “I loved him. But I won’t sacrifice the existing aspects of Better World in order to turn the place into some dead, mummified thing honoring his name. Or into some fun house, either.”
“Honor must be given,” Alanna said stubbornly.
“And it has, God knows,” I said. “Every time we heal somebody, we do it in Rick’s name. But tell me, Alanna,, if you no longer care about Better World, why have you stayed here, a recluse in your mother’s house? You’ve been independently wealthy ever since Narlydda died. You could have been off in the Bahamas writing poetry or orbiting Mars. So what’s holding you here?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Alanna said. “Don’t you think I would have gone if I could have? But he’ll never let me go, Julian. Regardless of where I am or what I’m doing.” She hugged herself miserably in a rare display of despair.
“Then I guess we’re both trapped,” I said. For a moment we eyed each other in mute acknowledgment of the truth. “Oh, why won’t you help me if you still love my brother?”
“Because of what he did,” she cried. “Because he killed my father! Because Better World was based upon that act, upon Rick’s guilt. It was always tainted by that. And it doesn’t deserve to survive.”
I stared at her in amazement. “You didn’t always feel that way.”
“I do now. It’s taken me years, so many years, to realize how I really feel. I loved Rick,” she said. “But I also loved my father. He was a wonderful man.”
And with those words, she handed me the key I had been searching for. Unbidden, a memory came to me of a Mutant Council meeting I had attended years ago while still in college.
A pompous speaker had been taking up a great deal of time and people were alternately muttering complaints, falling asleep, or excusing themselves from the gathering. Just as I had begun to consider leaving as well, the podium in front of the speaker began to bark and whine. It seemed to rise up and chase itself like a dog chasing its own tail. Then it started to chase the speaker around the hall.
In panic, he turned and fled. Although the Book Keeper reprimanded Skerry, we all had applauded happily and congratulated him on freeing us from the man’s speech. Only Skerry had had the nerve, had taken action. He was reckless and unpredictable, but despite his protests, he had always worked for the common good. He was a rebel, incorrigible, a bridge between the old-fashioned fearful mutants and the bolder, more confident, more irreverent generation that had followed them.
A bridge. Yes, that was it. A connection, spanning time, lives, eras.
Silently, I mindlinked with my half-sister and showed her my memory. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and affection.
Then I took her on a brief tour of recent mutant history, beginning with the riots in the 1990s, Eleanor Jacobsen’s election to the Senate and her murder, the rise of the false supermutant Ashman and his fall, thanks to her parents and mine. Rick’s development from a null into a super-enhanced mutant.
And more: I showed her the various unscrupulous people, both mutant and non, who would have used mutant powers to their own selfish benefit if they could: Stephen Jeffers, Tavia Emory, Ethan Hawkins, and now the troika threatening to displace me and take over Better World.
Do you see it, Alanna? Do you see?
All I can see is my own guilt, the part I played in my father’s death.
Flaming in her mind was that awful moment on Ethan Hawkins’s orbital pavilion. Alanna and I stood, helpless, as Skerry and Rick battled to the death. Rick had been wild then, almost crazed by his metamorphosis, unscrupulous and out of control.
My fault. Don’t you see? It was my fault they fought. My fault that my father died.
So, Alanna, to deal with your own guilt about loving Skerry’s murderer, you want to deny all the good that Rick did? Let it disappear? It will, you know.
But it was all my fault—
Perhaps. But don’t you see the good you did?
She gave me a confused, skeptical look.
Don’t you realize that Skerry’s death was a necessary sacrifice? No, don’t turn away. Listen to me. Your father’s death saved Rick’s life.
Now you’re playing with me.
Not at all. I’m convinced that had Skerry lived, Rick would have become a thief and a scoundrel, no better than Stephen Jeffers and his ilk. Probably much much worse, given his extraordinary powers.
A thief? Rick?
Absolutely. He was well o
n the way to taking over Ethan Hawkins’s organization, don’t you remember? But Skerry’s death stopped all that. In a funny way, it redeemed him. In fact it was an essential element in saving Rick.
Now I really don’t understand you.
It saved Rick by propelling him into something bigger and better than he was alone. Into someone who cared about other people and could use his superior skills to help them. He felt guilty and miserable and he was desperate to atone for his actions. So he reached out. It was the only thing he could do. The best thing.
There were tears in Alanna’s eyes.
I wish I could believe that.
“You have to,” I said. “Come on, Alanna. Can’t you see it? After all the hiding and breeding and scheming. The phonies and failures. The mutants had been waiting for so long. And finally, one day, the supermutant comes along.”
“Rick.”
“Yeah, Rick. And he was all they had imagined, and more. But untamed, wild, and uncontrollable. He wouldn’t give them a thing—thumbed his nose at them and told them to fuck off. He seemed determined to utilize his skills for his own selfish amusement.
“But then, the one man who might have been able to command his respect—his biological father—confronted him, and was killed in the process.”
“Because of me,” Alanna said bitterly. “He wanted to protect me from Rick. Daddy’s death was my fault.”
“But his death turned Rick away from his self-destructive, unlawful path toward his true destiny. Don’t you see, Alanna? Skerry’s death made it possible for Rick to become the bridge. The bridge between mutants and nonmutants.”
“But my guilt—”
“Should be tempered by your gratitude.”
“Gratitude?”
“You helped to save Rick, to redeem his life, to transform his work. You were one of the builders of the bridge. And I was another.” I wanted to laugh now, it was all so clear. All along I had thought I was working against my brother, struggling to reshape what he had left us. But what I had been doing was working with him. Every day.