Mutant Star

by Karen Haber

“Thumbprint here,” said the Housing Authority clerk. His bald head was studded with blue pearls and winking crylights. “Social Security Number there. We’ll get back to you.”

  “Yeah,” said a skinny Chinese guy one line over. “Maybe in your next lifetime. This is my fourth visit here.”

  “Great,” Rick said. “I won’t hold my breath.”

  He left the office, jumped on his cycle, and started it up. Traffic was slow, and it took him the better part of an hour just to thread through the downtown maze to the feeder loop for old Highway 17. Skimmers and cars idled, honked, and darted from lane to lane.

  Random images played through Rick’s mind. The breen storm that had become a reverse cyclone. Alanna jolting into his arms as Henley watched and the neon death’s-head atop Zeitgeist winked. The shelf fall of screenbrains starting to fall, then somehow stacking each brain neatly on the floor. Alanna aging before his eyes.

  “I didn’t catch those brains, Rick. You did.”

  You did. You did. You did.

  Rick concentrated on the cycle’s roar, trying to dull the refrain. Too many strange things were happening. The visions, the odd fugues he was having—as though he were looking at somebody else’s life through their eyes.

  Alanna was wrong. She had to be wrong. Instinctively, she’d saved herself from that half ton of metal falling toward her. She had just been trying to flatter him that first night together. But she had misunderstood. He didn’t want to be a functional mutant. Not ever. Rick liked being a null. He had even considered having iris implants to cover his mutant gold. Alanna was the first mutant woman to whom he had ever been attracted.

  Their conversation last night had left him unsettled. The two of them, alone, setting up a household? Did he really want that? For a moment he hesitated. Then the image of her laughing and tossing a strand of dark hair over her shoulder came into his mind. Rick reached into his pocket and fingered the Housing Authority holocard with his and Alanna’s registration number: S-157QL. That, at least, was real.

  Yes. Yes. He did mean it. He loved her.

  Rick dodged a slow skimmer and cut around a black, old-fashioned sedan. His stomach rumbled. He put all thoughts of mutancy out of his head and concentrated on imagining selections in the freeze box.

  The house was empty when he got there. Odd. Everybody out partying, he guessed. Strange that they didn’t leave him a screen note telling him where to find them. That was the house rule. Last one out the door leave a note for Rick.

  He popped a pack of eggrolls into the microwave and sat down to wait.

  The room looked strangely shabby to him. Windows covered by faded blue curtains. A ragged brown rug on the floor. The entire place furnished with bits of this and that, people’s former possessions. And the messy, thoughtless arrangement of it all. Maybe Alanna was right. For instance, that table over there—wouldn’t it be better against the wall?

  As he watched, the table spun across the room and slammed into the wall with a loud thump.

  Whoa.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  The table was against the wall now, all right.

  The microwave chimed. Chimed again.

  Slowly, Rick looked at it, then thought about opening the door.

  With a click, the door swung open as though blown by gale force winds.

  Bring the plate over here.

  Wobbling treacherously, the pink, ridged fiberform plate of eggrolls floated toward him, overshot the table-top, and began to spill onto the floor. Rick caught it at the last moment with hands gone suddenly numb.

  My God. My God. It’s true. Alanna’s right. I’ve developed mutant skills.

  “What’s happening to me?” he said. The mirrored tile over the sink showed his familiar reflection: long brown hair, golden eyes, cleft chin that needed a shave. No outward change.

  Should I call the healers? Call Mom? No, she’d worry. What could I say? Surprise! I’ve become a real mutant.

  He ate mechanically, oblivious to the food. Inside, he was shaking.

  Maybe I’ve caught something from Alanna, he thought. A mutant bug. I was fine until I got involved with her.

  A small voice in Rick’s head told him he was crazy. You couldn’t catch mutancy the way you did a cold.

  But I was okay until I met her, he thought. I don’t want to be mutant. Don’t want to stand on my head in the air. She did it. She caused it somehow because she really wants a mutant man. If I stay away from her I’ll be okay. Yes, that’s it. Stay away from Alanna. He pulled the Housing Authority registration card out of his pocket and threw it into the glass compacter under the sink.

  The screen chimed his personal phone code.

  Screen on.

  “Rick?”

  It was Kelly Ryton, his favorite aunt. She had married Michael, his mother’s brother, after some big family scandal. Michael had been married before, although Rick had never met Michael’s first wife or daughter. His mother still made a face whenever she referred to her former sister-in-law.

  But Kelly was fun. Not only was she a nonmutant, she had been a shuttle pilot on the Moon, which meant she had terrific stories to tell of the Shuttle Corps. She gazed out at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “Anything wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “Uh, no. Not really.” Rick’s voice was hoarse, rasping. “How are you? How are Michael and Mari?”

  “I’m fine, he’s in Washington as usual, and our daughter’s up to no good in the backyard, I’m certain. Rick, I’m calling to invite you to a party this weekend. I know it’s short notice, and I’m sorry. I had to move the date up. Ethan Hawkins and a bunch of other Shuttle Corps alumni will be there and I thought you might enjoy talking to them. I know how you enjoy space stories.”

  “Yeah.” Rick was gripped by a sudden, desperate yearning to get away, to hide until he figured out what was happening to him. He didn’t want to see Alanna. He didn’t want to see Henley and the crowd. Denver sounded safe and cool, wonderfully distant.

  “Sure,” he said. “How about tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Kelly’s smile wavered a bit, then held. “If you’d like.”

  Get a grip on yourself, boy. You’re scaring her. Rick took a deep breath. “Uh, just kidding. But I could come out tomorrow, if it’s convenient.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Whew, extreme. I’ll see you then.”

  “Rick, is everything all right?”

  “Sure. Wonderful.”

  Kelly bit her lip. “Good. Well, then, we’ll see you tomorrow. Come early.”

  “I will.”

  The screen went dark. Rick leaned his head against it.

  ***

  Julian glanced across the table at Eva. She looked lovely in the soft lighting of the restaurant. She had exchanged her white lab coat for a pleated yellow silken wrap that began with gossamer ruffles at her neck and in a series of tantalizing twists made its way down her body, ending in leggings. It both concealed and revealed much. She was compactly built, with graceful arms, a shallow chest, and wide hips. In her yellow silk, she looked like an houri to him: a tantalizing enigma.

  “You haven’t finished your dessert,” Eva said. There was a touch of maternal solicitousness in her voice, coupled with an arch, teasing tone.

  “I guess I don’t like udon with almonds and chocolate sauce.”

  Eva smiled. “I don’t blame you. I’ll tell you what—let’s get out of here, go over to my place, and I’ll make you some old fashioned bona fide ice cream.”

  “Not tea-flavored, I hope.”

  She shuddered delicately. “I was thinking about strawberry.”

  “In that case, yes.” He pressed the tablemech check request. Did he sound too eager? Well, he was eager. Eva had kept him at arm’s length for too long.

  Their table was placed against the broad curve of the observation deck overlooking the bay. Through the window the tri-level Bay Bridge could be seen, snaking its way toward San Francisco, lights t
winkling. The tablemech chimed and extruded the bill. Eva reached for it, but Julian was quicker, yanking it away telekinetically.

  “Hey!”

  “I insist.” He placed his credit chip against the mech’s scanner.

  “I thought grad students were impoverished,” Eva said.

  “We are, but we don’t ask ladies out and then expect them to pay. And some of us have vestigial macho tendencies.”

  “Nasty. I’ll try to remember that.”

  On the ride to her apartment, they kept their talk light, touching on faculty infighting, gossip, and the program, of course.

  Julian still had the maddening sense that Eva was eluding him, hiding behind a wall of friendly yet impervious charm. A wall he was determined to breach.

  “What will you show Hawkins?” he asked.

  “Whatever he wants.”

  “Within limits?”

  “Broadly defined.”

  “How far would you go to protect the program?”

  “As far as I have to.”

  “Would you sleep with him?”

  Eva sat bolt upright. When she spoke, her voice shook with anger. “Julian, if I thought it would do any good, I might even sleep with Dalheim. Fortunately for me, he prefers men. As for Hawkins, it seems that he prefers space.”

  “That was a shitty question.”

  “Yes.” She leaned away from him.

  Damn. Stupid. Stupid. “I still don’t understand why you opted for research instead of a cushy private practice. Doesn’t the endless haggling for grant money and floor space wear you down?”

  “Not at all,” she said, and turned toward him again. “I love a good fight. How could I start a private practice and just sit in a small office somewhere listening to people complain about their lives? Especially when Five-Minute Shrinks are cheaper and often better? The only kind of solutions people want are simple. Therapeutic simulacra can give them that, maybe. I can’t.”

  “I’d like to try,” Julian said. “I think people do want to find help. That they’ll accept it, even when it’s difficult.”

  “Don’t tell me you want to go into private practice!?”

  “Someday. I want to try to combine the techniques of the mutant healers with psychotherapy. Maybe come up with something new. Something that really eases emotional pain and anxiety.”

  “Why didn’t you become a healer?”

  “It’s a cloistered life,” Julian said. “Not for me.”

  They pulled up to a wooden duplex in the Berkeley hills. Julian killed the engine and followed Eva to the door.

  Eva pressed the keypad. “This is my sanctum,” she said. “Want the full tour?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her apartment was charming: lined with white-enameled bookshelves and filled with bright aboriginal art. The blond wood floors were covered with computer weavings in green and gold. He relaxed on a thick wall-cushion, listening to the sound of Eva puttering in the kitchen, the clinking of metal against glass.

  “Get ready!” She appeared with two sculpted glass bowls full of ivory-pink ice cream. They settled comfortably together on the green cushions. Julian managed several swallows of the cool, sweet confection before his impatience got the better of him. He put down his spoon.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  He slipped his arms around her and gently drew her close. Eva’s lips were soft, yielding, faintly sweet.

  “Let me at least set down my bowl.”

  She pushed the dishes to the far side of the table. Then she turned to him. Her cheeks glowed. Julian kissed her again, and together they sank down on the pillows. He found that her silk wrap came apart in very interesting ways. Her skin was satiny, lustrous. He savored the feel of her. Eva smiled as he ran his hand gently down her hip and she bent gracefully to work on the seals of his pants. In minutes they lay together, naked.

  He touched more boldly now. She was soft, so soft, in his arms. For a moment, he was tempted to take a telepathic peek and learn her erotic preferences. But trial and error had its appeal, too. He was making very little error, apparently. Eva sighed as he inched his way down her body. He explored her with meticulous patience until she was begging him to hurry, hurry. But he would not be hurried.

  “Please.” She was trembling.

  Not yet, he thought.

  Eva panted beneath him. “Please, Julian.”

  Still he lingered, until she seemed more than ready. Then, with his own pulse roaring in his ears, he entered her.

  Eva gasped and he reined back his own climax until he was certain her moment had come. As she crested, he joined her, his cries mingling with her own.

  But when they were finished, nestled cheek to cheek, he had a sense of frustration. Incompleteness. Somehow, he knew, it had not been the transcendent moment he’d hoped for. Pleasant, yes. But not bonding. He’d seen erotic fire in her eyes. Yet he wanted more.

  “I’ve never made love with a mutant man before,” Eva said. “For that matter, I’ve never slept with a younger man before.” She ran her hand along his chest, abdomen, and lower. “One nice thing—I see you’re quick to recover.”

  “Is that the only nice thing?”

  Her eyes glittered. “I’ll let you know later.”

  To his amazement, she had him hard, ready within minutes. He gasped under her touch. And when she stopped stroking him, he opened his eyes, ready to protest.

  She was leaning on an elbow, staring at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I’m breaking a lot of personal rules here.”

  “Hell of a time to mention it.”

  “You’re a colleague—somebody I supervise. And you’re ten years younger than I am.”

  “Look,” he said desperately. “It really doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it.” But he could sense her drawing back and away. How to show her what he felt for her? He’d hoped that sex would do it. Then, suddenly, he knew.

  He put his hand against the back of her neck and drew her close. “Shut your eyes.”

  Eva went rigid in his arms. “No, Julian. Stop!”

  “Don’t be afraid. This won’t hurt.”

  “I don’t want—”

  Hush. Gently, carefully, he forged a telepathic bridge between them.

  She was open to him now. He could probe every corner of her, every memory. Every desire. But he didn’t want that. Not yet. Instead, he opened the door to his own mind and beckoned her to enter. When she hesitated on the threshold, he pulled her in.

  Here I am, he thought. Know me.

  Know what it was like to grow up as a mutant in a family of nulls and nonmutants. To learn to live with a foot in either world, always precariously balanced. To love science. How I’ve come to respect you, Eva. To love you.

  He showed her how she glowed in his mind like a precious icon.

  “Is that me?”

  Uh-huh.

  “But I look like a saint from an illuminated manuscript. Or some angel on top of a Christmas tree.”

  Yes.

  “Oh, Julian.” Her voice had a strange tone and she seemed to be both laughing and crying. “I’m not anything like that woman.”

  Then show me who you are.

  “I’m afraid.”

  I love you. I want to know you better.

  “What if you don’t like me afterward?”

  No chance of that. We’re not exactly strangers.

  “No. That’s true.” She hesitated. “All right.”

  And he went into her mind. Saw the harsh childhood deprivations that had forged such determination. Such self-protection. Moats and drawbridges. Spiked walls. Saw, too, her humor, her whimsy. Her sorrow: a husband. A pregnancy terminated. A divorce.

  I didn’t know.

  “I told you.” The pain was thick in her voice and in her mind.

  Julian held her close and kissed her until the pain faded and in its place an erotic pattern crystallized. He could see it as clearly as thou
gh it had been tattooed upon her skin. Of course. Of course.

  She quivered as he touched her. “Julian, we’re still linked.”

  Yes. I thought it would be better this way.

  She gasped. “I can feel what you feel.”

  And I, you.

  He traced the patterns of her desire.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

  Her response reverberated through his skin in an odd feedback buzz that gave the act hallucinatory overtones. His hands and lips left glowing trails on her body. Eva vibrated with him in the link, every nerve alive, the beating of her heart loud and building. Julian saw how to prolong her slow climb, and knew she was riding his thoughts, looking through his eyes and her own. Then she was moving, running, he was racing to catch up, and as she came, he was Eva, crying out, and she was Julian, urging them both onward. Each the other, connected in urgent, timeless pleasure.

  Spent finally, and still linked, they sank into sweet lethargy.

  “Amazing,” she whispered.

  Yes. Sleep now.

  Their dreams mingled, golden and pleasant. Near dawn, Julian awoke. Eva was still asleep beside him. When he removed the telepathic linkage, she opened her eyes.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost five.”

  “Oh. Good. We still have time, then.” She curled against him.

  He grew hard immediately.

  “My goodness,” Eva said. “You’re certainly glad to see me.”

  “I’m a little surprised,” Julian said.

  “And I’m learning not to be.” She turned to him, fully awake, and straddled him. “What other mutant tricks do you have up your … sleeve?”

  “If I were telekinetic, I could levitate us a foot over the bed,” Julian said.

  “But you’re not, are you?” she asked nervously.

  “No. Relax, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”

  ***

  At nine forty-five that morning, Ethan Hawkins stood outside the Berkeley experimental psychology lab with Farnam and Hugh Dalheim, head of the psychology department at Berkeley.

  Dalheim was tall and round-shouldered. He had gray hair, gray eyes, and the skin of his face was heavily lined.

  “I’m sorry for the delay, Colonel,” he said. “Dr. Seguy is usually very punctual.”

  “I hope so,” Hawkins said. He paced the length of the corridor, Farnam and Dalheim trailing behind him. “I’ll give her another five minutes.”