Mutant Star (16 page)

“Don’t expect this to provide some crystal ball through which you can read tomorrow’s stock market report.”

Hawkins smiled. The music of that celestial orchestra still sounded in his memory. And he could see Eva smiling up at him as they danced, oblivious to everyone else. “I had more than business considerations in mind,” he said. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a holocard. “This is my private line. Call me anytime. I mean it.” His hand rested upon hers for a moment as she took the card.

Eva Seguy’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a personal invitation.”

“It is.”

She gazed at him for a moment, solemn, almost severe. Then her expression softened. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again then, Colonel.” She stood up. “I’m so grateful for your support. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“That’s easy. I hope you’ll let me buy you a better lunch next time I’m Earthside.”

“Done.”

“And please. Call me Ethan.”

Her handshake was firm. “All right, Ethan.” She waved once and was swallowed by the crowd. Gone.

Hawkins strolled toward the rental skimmer port where he knew Farnam would be waiting. As he walked, he whistled the champagne aria from
Don Giovanni
. The campus was alive with students lolling on the lawns, dogs barking, athletes limbering up. He felt connected to the world, suddenly. To the future. And to Eva Seguy.

***

Alanna walked along the water’s edge at Pocket Beach, musing over a half-formed stanza.

***

What burns as brightly in the mind

As in the heart, the unsaid word,

Ignites …

***

She shook her head.

“Damn.”

It was no good, she thought. She should be concentrating on her poetry. Rethinking the Whitlock offer. Instead, she was wondering for the tenth time in an hour what she should do. Rick hadn’t called. She had left so many messages that his screen memory was filled. She felt foolish and humiliated.

“Forget him,” her father had said.

“Come meet my new assistant foreman,” her mother had said.

Time to face facts, Alanna thought. Rick was just a fling. Bury him in some remote segment of your memory. Prepare to go to Cambridge in the fall.

The surf boomed and crashed, and Alanna shivered in the cold wind. She’d come out here every day for a week, hoping to find an answer. But all she found was sand.

She thumbed a ride to the depot: it was a fifteen-minute trip to the skimmer lot closest to her house. The next train left in twenty minutes. Time to pace up and down the platform a hundred times, memorize the vid kiosk displays, go see the Five-Minute Shrink … hmmm, a quick therapy session might not be such a bad idea. She counted her credits—just enough. She slid the money into the mech, the door opened, and she stepped into the shining silver cubicle.

One entire wall was taken up by a screen. Large blue-green letters offered her a selection of topics and urged her to choose. She perched on the white wall-cushions across from the screen and pondered the menu.

Let’s see. Communication? No. Family? Well, not exactly. Relationships? Perfect. Alanna pressed the third button on the side of the screen and waited.

A blond, pink-faced woman wearing a white jumpsuit appeared onscreen.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was warm, vibrant, with a slight tinny electronic modulation. “I’m Sigma. I’ll be your Shrink Simulacrum for this session. You’ve selected the relationships category. Please describe your concern as concisely as possible.”

Alanna sighed. “Well, I’ve been living with this guy … I mean, I will be living with him. I’ve been seeing him …”

“Yes?” Sigma said. Alanna wondered if she was programmed to prompt the speaker at any pause in the conversation.

“Well, he hasn’t called me in over a week.”

“I see,” Sigma said gently. “How do you feel about that?”

“That’s the point. I’m furious. How could he treat me like this?”

“I can see you feel anger,” Sigma said. “What’s that all about?”

“I guess I feel betrayed. By Rick. I trusted him.”

“Let’s look at that a little more closely,” Sigma said.

Alanna twirled a strand of hair between thumb and forefinger. “I thought he wanted to settle down. Get serious. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe he wasn’t ready.”

“Tell me more.”

“He must have been scared.” Alanna stopped fidgeting. “He loves me so much he didn’t know how to tell me he was nervous.”

Sigma smiled approvingly. “And now?”

“I miss Rick. I thought I’d never want to see him again, but I keep wondering what he’s doing, if he’s seeing anybody else, if he misses me.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I—I want to see him. To talk to him. Despite everything, I still love him.”

“Then perhaps you should follow through on that,” Sigma said. A clock chimed softly. “Your five minutes are up. Do you have anything else you’d like to discuss? If so, you can be billed later.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well.” Sigma beamed. “I’m glad we had the chance to talk. A printout of our conversation is available below the screen. Thank you for choosing Five-Minute Shrink.” Sigma’s smiling image dimmed, the screen went opaque, and the door to the cubicle slid open.

The transcript of the session extruded from the wall like a pale tongue. Alanna tore it off, pocketed it, and left the Shrink cubicle.

With a whoosh of forced air, the central Marin train pulled into the station. Alanna ran for the nearest open compartment.

When she got home, the house was empty. There was a message on her roomscreen.

Rick called. Will try again 4:30.

The screen clock said 4:15

Alanna watched it click to 4:29. 4:30. 4:35.

At ten minutes to six, she was in a fury. With a yank on the cord, she disabled the message circuit on her line. When, an hour later, the phone chimed, she ignored it. It rang and rang. Then it stopped.

.

******************

8

The soft pink crylights along the ceiling cast a flattering glow onto the faces of the guests assembled in the Ryton living room. The whisper of jazz came from wall speakers: a muted percussion and mellowed strings. “Moron music,” Rick’s father called it, but it was pleasant background noise for a party. Rick listened to its lulling rhythms and tried to relax.

The room was filled with aging space jockeys: a quieter crowd than he had expected. Most of the people here were gray-haired and dignified, their hell-raising long past. What would they think of a newly emerged mutant in their midst? What would Kelly and Michael think?

He looked at the table laden with tidbits. A plate piled high with choba rolls caught his attention and his stomach growled with sudden hunger. To his horror, the entire platter began to lift upward.

No. No. No.

The plate settled with an audible clink. Across the room, Kelly looked up suddenly, her hostess’s instincts aroused. For a moment her eyes met his. Then she shrugged and turned back to her guests.

Close. Too close. Got to watch it. Rick grabbed a beer and took a healthy swallow.

Kelly looks wonderful. What’s her secret? Marriage to a mutant?

The voice was loud in his ear.

Rick spun around. He was alone in the corner—a gray-haired man with long sideburns and a nose reddened by liquor was the only person nearby.

Wonder if Michael
can float me a loan?

This time the voice was a rough baritone. Rick took a hurried gulp of beer.

I’m losing my mind, he thought. Hearing things.

Maybe he should tell his aunt and uncle what was happening. But what would they say when he told them he was hearing things? Maybe what he needed was a nice long rest in a padded room under a healer’s care.

“Lovely party,” a woman said. She was fortyish, with straight white hair and a strong, well-defined body partially covered by a short gold wrap. She eyed Rick with unmistakable interest. “Do you work with Mike?”

“Uh, no. I mean yes, I mean, do you?” Rick told himself to smile. Try to look normal. Whatever that was.

“No. My husband did, before Mike became Senator Greenberg’s best friend in Washington.” She gave him a knowing look.

Rick wondered briefly what she was talking about. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I wonder how Kelly stands him jetting off to Washington for all those tête-à-têtes,” the woman said.

As she talked, Rick could see an image forming of his uncle Michael and an ample-figured, red-haired woman kissing. It floated in front of him, as real as the wall-screen to his left. Rick gaped. But there was something wrong with the vision. Something malicious and false. He could sense it. And he was about to tell the woman that when his hand slipped on his beer. The image vanished. Rick tried to catch the glass but succeeded only in splashing the woman’s golden wrap. The fabric hissed briefly, faded, and became transparent. The rest of her was even more muscular than he’d imagined.

“God, I’m sorry,” Rick said. He grabbed a soak-up from the pile on the table and handed it to her, hoping she’d hurry to repair the damage.

Instead, she smiled, showing strong white teeth. “Your aim is stupendous.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Rick found his voice.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for the bathroom.” He strode away from that carnivorous smile and ducked into the front hallway.

Nice crowd
, a familiar bass voice boomed in Rick’s head.
Lovely home. Kelly seems to have done well for herself
.

That’s not somebody speaking, Rick thought. I’m hearing someone think. Someone I know. He scanned the room. A tall, handsome black man was standing with Kelly. Of course. Ethan Hawkins. The man who’d addressed the Mutant Council. Hawkins and his aunt had been in the Shuttle Corps together. Hawkins looked up, met his eye, and smiled in recognition.

Akimura. Rick. The other brother. The null. Ought to go over and say hello.

Yes, Rick thought. Come on over and say hello to the null. Maybe you’ll get a surprise.

Wonder if he knows anything about the lab work. No, he’s not capable of riding the flares. A pity. Getting both brothers involved might speed up the program.

Program? Rick wondered if Hawkins was thinking about the same program that Julian was working with in Berkeley. Was this telepathy? Clairaudience? It was getting interesting. Hawkins seemed to be broadcasting on a narrow band right to him.

And here he comes, Rick thought.

“Rick Akimura, isn’t it?” Hawkins shook his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Michael is my mother’s brother.”

“I see.”
Hmmm. Should I tell him about the lab program?
“Speaking of brothers. I saw yours. Yesterday. Took a tour of the lab facilities at Berkeley—quite impressive.” Hawkins grinned. “I’m convinced they’re going to have remarkable results from that program. Perhaps unlock the keys to the future.”

“I just thought it was some kind of scientific mumbo jumbo.”

“Not at all.”

In Hawkins’s mind, Rick could see the image of a space station glowing, floating above a reddish planet. And a woman with green eyes and red hair, dressed in a diaphanous gown. What was that all about?

“I understand your skepticism, Rick, but you really should ask your brother about the program. I believe that through it, he’s going to be quite famous one day.”

Rick smiled at the words, but felt an uneasiness settling in—Julian famous. Yes, Julian would be famous. Suddenly he was convinced. A vision sprang up in which his brother was standing before a crowd, making a speech. What was it? A Nobel Prize acceptance? Pulitzer? Hawkins was right. Rick didn’t know how, but he was convinced of it.

Hawkins was staring at him. “Do you feel all right?”

Rick could feel the sweat gathering on his brow. “Uh, just a little hot, I think. Maybe I’ll step outside to cool down.” With a quick, apologetic smile, he cut through the crowd and out into the crystalline night.

The air was cool on his fevered skin. These new skills were unnerving.

He strode down the street, breathing the crisp air in huge gulps, enjoying the shock of the cold to his system. He was pleasantly chilled but not uncomfortable. It had to be below freezing outside, yet all he felt was a pleasant coolness through his shirt. It was invigorating. A rush of energy filled him. The stars twinkled above. Why not?

Up, he thought. Up. Up. Up.

Muscles coiled. He was feverish, glowing with exertion. A running start and yes, he was aloft, nerves screaming. Whoa, watch that lamppost. He veered to avoid a collision and soared higher, high above the pavement, floating over the rooftops, over the trees, up into the frosty air until the houses below were dwarfed and toylike. Steady. Steady now.