Mutant Star (10 page)

“Who? I don’t know anybody named Aldous …”

“Forget it,” Rick said. “Maybe it never really happened. Just a little mutual delusion between friends. But do me a favor, Henley, seal that bag, will you?” He stood up, tossed the plate toward the recycle bin, missed, and left it lying on the floor. “Gotta get back to Green Boot.”

Henley shrugged, brooding over his breen.

Rick hurried out the door.

What had happened in there, he wondered? Why wasn’t he gasping on the floor from an overdose? Were delusions catching? He didn’t understand it. And he didn’t like the way Henley had accused him of pulling some mutant stunt. Luckily, by nightfall, Henley would have forgotten the entire incident, and everything else, including, possibly, his own name. Now if only Rick could do the same. He jumped on his cycle and headed down the road back to work.

.

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

5

The moon hung outside the window of Hawkins’s office, a silver-white lantern as bright as the halogen lamps inside the orbital station.

“Nice place you’ve got,” “Bus” Farnam said. He gazed around the room and the envy in his voice was unmistakable. “Even back in the Shuttle Corps, you said you’d never leave space. And by God, you made good on that promise. I wondered, after Marsbase …”

“Gotta get right back on that horse and ride him, Bus. Or give up.” Hawkins smiled at the stocky, balding man. Bus had really let himself go since their space-jockey days. A desk job could do that to you if you weren’t careful. “And you know I don’t give up.”

“Amen.” Farnam took a refill from the coffee mech. “That’s one reason I contacted you about the cold fusion program at the university.”

“How’s it going at Cal?”

“Not well.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Funding.” Farnam shook his head. “I thought we were a shoo-in,” he said. “I figured the other programs would have to scramble. The soft stuff like Eva Seguy’s mutant flare research. Then they cut the budget for the physics department. Damned university politics. I still don’t believe it.”

“How much do you need?”

Farnam took a deep breath. “Half a mil.”

“I see.” Hawkins turned away and pondered the white face of the Moon slipping past the window. “Bus, let’s stretch our legs.”

Farnam followed him through the door and along a hallway to an atrium gallery. Five stories could be seen below, and five above. Busy mechs floated from one level to another, blue lights blinking in bands across their round bodies. A fountain’s spray lit by a shifting spectrum of crylights performed lazy acrobatics in its shielded low-g environment. Everywhere was light and movement. Between the atrium levels, the velvet darkness of space, punctuated by stars, could be seen through domed windows.

Farnam whistled in appreciation.

“Do you really use all this?”

“It’s more than I need. I take one floor for my personal quarters. My company, Aria Corp., is housed on the floor below that. Staff accommodations, the kitchen, theater, concessions, day-care and school, and exercise areas take up the third level and fourth. I’ve rented one floor to NASA, another to Tokyo News. Half a floor is taken up with hydroponics experiments, but there’s still room for more. And that doesn’t even begin to make use of the auxiliary Pavilion in piggyback orbit.”

“Very impressive.”

“I like it.” Hawkins steered his visitor back toward his office and waited until he’d settled comfortably into the webbed wallcouch. “Tell me, Bus, have you applied for grants?”

“Have I?” Farnam smiled wryly. “Damned application process. Takes forever just to hear the word no. And this late in the year, all we hear is no.”

“This isn’t another magician’s trick like the one they tried to pull fifty years ago?” Hawkins said, gently goading. “You’ve done your homework? You’ve got the figures?”

Farnam’s cheeks were bright pink with indignation. “Ethan, everything checks out. Believe me, if we got the funding, we’d give you cold fusion. And more.”

“Quite a promise.” Hawkins opened a seamless ebony box, removed a self-lighting cigar, offered one to Farnam. “You say the silly research and development programs are getting all the bucks?” He leaned back in the floatchair and blew a smoke ring toward the Moon. “Such as the one you mentioned. What was that? Mutant flares?”

Farnam’s laughter sounded forced. “Yeah. Crazy stuff. You know, those killer headaches mutants suffer from—”

“The flares?” Hawkins leaned forward. His eyes never left Farnam’s face.

“The same. Anyway, the theory now is they’re not generated by constricted blood vessels in the brain or hormonal imbalance. No. They’re caused by telepathic input that’s so compressed it’s impossible for the receiver to decode. And for nontelepathic mutants, the impact can be lethal.” He shrugged. “I offered to split her grant and build her a flare decoder.”

Hawkins ignored the sally. “I thought there were drugs to deal with the flares and their effects.”

“Sure. But nobody before Eva Seguy thought to try and ride them.”

“Ride them?”

“Yeah. Put the flare receiver to sleep and have a telepath tap in. There doesn’t seem to be any danger for the rider.”

“Why bother with all this in the first place?”

“Seguy’s convinced there’s precognitive information in the flares. And she’s got a crew of mutant telepaths at work deciphering the damn things. Wish she could tell me if cold fusion would get funding.”

“Have they found anything yet?”

“Not that I know of,” Farnam said sourly. “You sound awfully interested in her program.”

Hawkins shrugged. “Mutants are peculiar. And I could use a few more up here to help me with some projects. Is this Dr. Seguy mutant?”

“No. But she’s cute.” Farnam gave him a shrewd look. “Come down and check out the cold fusion program. I’ll introduce you to her.”

“I don’t know, Bus. I just got back up here after that surgery. And I hardly ever make planetfall when I can avoid it.”

“Come on, it’ll be fascinating. Well worth your time. Besides, I’ve got an invitation to a party, a sort of reunion of the old Shuttle Corps. Kelly McLeod’s throwing it at her spread near Denver.”

“Kelly McLeod.” Hawkins shook his head. “Brings back memories. She was a first-rate pilot.”

“I’m sure Kelly sent you an invitation.” Farnam smiled a little too brightly. “Have you given up parties?”

“Not entirely.”

“Then come, Hawk. Catch up with folks. First, stop by the university. Then party.”

Hawkins watched the bright face of the Moon pass slowly from view. “Tell you what. Make good on that introduction to the cute Dr. Seguy and I’ll say yes.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll have the folks in our lab set up a demonstration.”

Hawkins waved the suggestion away impatiently. “Don’t bother with all that.”

Farnam gaped at him. “But—but—”

“Relax, Bus. You’ve got the funding.”

“What?” Farnam gaped at him, speechless.

“I want to remember this moment,” Hawkins said. “Buster Farnam at a loss for words. Why didn’t I turn on my office cam?” He patted him on the back. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course.” Hawkins frowned. “When have you ever known me to fool around when it came to money? I’m serious, Bus. I’ve done some research and I’m convinced—your program deserves backing and I’ll see that you get it.”

“Hawk, I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“It’ll be a good investment.” Hawkins’s stomach rumbled, always a sign that he was happy. He checked his watch, stood up. “Lunchtime. Let’s go see what I can offer you in the way of orbital cuisine.”

***

Henley cut in on Rick and Alanna as the Baked Satori mechband moved into its fourth song of the night at the Zeitgeist. Rick hesitated. His housemate had been begging for a dance ever since they’d gotten to the club. What the hell. He looked at Alanna and she nodded. With a shrug, he released her and went to lean against the bar.

She had the right to dance with anyone she wanted, Rick reminded himself. And just about everybody he knew wanted to dance with her. Or so it seemed. Rick didn’t like to think of himself as possessive, but his gaze kept slipping back to Alanna. The copper neckpiece she wore glinted with red lights as she swayed to the beat.

The music changed to a slow number and Rick watched coolly as Henley held Alanna close. They moved together for a minute. Then Alanna pulled back. She said something sharply, gave Henley a furious look, and strode off the dance floor toward Rick.

“Don’t like the music?” he said.

“That guy is a jerk,” Alanna said sharply. “He tried so hard to get under my dress that he nearly ripped right through it.”

“Did he?”

“Probably thought he could just slip his hands between the beads.” She frowned. “I’m not stupid enough to wear this without a spandex net underneath. Your friend should be grateful I didn’t put him through a window.”

“Uh, yeah,” Rick said. “He probably doesn’t know how close he came to a Moon trip. But he’s not really used to being around mutant women.”

And neither am I.

She tossed her head. “He didn’t deserve any mercy. But I don’t like to pull mutant stunts in public. Besides, right now, we’re all living under one roof. But only temporarily, I hope. Come on, I want some fresh air.”

The parking lot was jammed with skimmers and jet cycles. Alanna leaned against a Harley three-seater and pulled out a joy stick.

“So this is where you hang?” Her expression let him know beyond a doubt what she thought of the club.

“Yeah,” Rick bristled. “I like it. And my friends like it, too.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Look, maybe it’s not some fancy mech room in Marin, but that’s fine with me. I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet your standards.”

“Rick, I … what’s that?”

A sound like distant thunder shook the lot. Jet bikes, coming nearer. The sound grew loud, louder still, until it was more sensation than noise. Green headlamps, with the ghostly outlines of riders behind them, darted into the lot, winked out. Silently, the bikers dismounted and moved as a group toward the Zeitgeist. When they passed under the halogen lamp by the porch, their eyes reflected its glow in golden flashes.

Mutant bikers. Rick tensed. Must be the Penitents. But they stuck to Salinas and Monterey. What were they doing here? He’d better get inside and tell his friends.

I don’t think you want to do that.

It was a mindspoken warning.

“Who invited you?” Rick said.

This is an open club, isn’t it?

The mindspeaker gave him a cold, contemptuous glance. He was a mutant of medium height, blond, and thin almost to the point of emaciation. Rick thought he could take him easily.

Take me?
The mindspeaker chuckled, and his gang chuckled with him as the thought passed among them.
Maybe if I were on neural dampers. You dumb normal. I can hear everything you think. Don’t you know that?
He stepped closer and his eyes widened in surprise.

You’re a mutant. I don’t understand.

“Try understanding this.” Rick swung at him, connecting solidly with the mutant’s nose. The biker reeled back and fell.

“What are you doing?” Alanna cried.

“Get inside.”

“Not a chance. You can’t hold them all off.”

A telekinetic bolt sizzled toward him, and he barely ducked it in time. It bent a porch support, caromed off, and melted a trash bucket before dissipating in a flash of blue light.

“Stop! That’s against the law,” Alanna said. “You can’t use mindbolts against norms.”

He’s not a norm.

“But he’s a null.”

His problem. Not ours. Join us, Sister. Or get out of the way.

“Yeah, get away, Alanna.” Rick shoved her toward the door.

“I won’t.”

Another mindbolt. Impossible to duck. Rick threw himself in front of Alanna. But something was between him and the Penitents: a huge Renault one-seater. It took the blast, rocking like a cradle, and glowed gently as its iridescent finish melted and began to drip onto the pavement.

“You bitch. That’s my bike!” A stony-faced woman with close-cropped brown hair glared at Alanna. With a nod, she sent her tumbling through the air to slam into the wall of the club. Alanna slid to the ground and stayed there.

We’ll save her for later
, the leader thought.
And that will be fun. But now, you.

The Renault disappeared.

Rick turned, tried to get to the door and inside. But he was caught by a steely telekinetic grip. He couldn’t move. He looked at Alanna. No good. She was out cold.

Come here.

Like a puppet, he marched toward the gang.

The leader hit him in the mouth, hard. Rick’s head rocked back. Only the telekinetic field kept him upright. He tasted blood but forced a defiant smile.