The Mutant Season

  “Don’t they realize what you’re trying to do for them?”

  Skerry shook his head. His smile hardened. “Mutant ways are slow, stubborn, and by the book. Our Book. If you don’t live according to our Book, you’re an outlaw.”

  “Well, outlaw or not, we’ll make them listen to us!” Andie said. She felt hopeful for the first time that day.

  “Where is it? The memorypak?”

  “In my desk.”

  “Can we get it?”

  “Now?” Andie shrugged. “I guess so. But what’s your hurry?”

  “I’d just like to get things moving, that’s all.”

  She sighed. She felt dead on her feet, but his gaze was insistent.

  “Come on.”

  The building was half lit and practically deserted. Andie keyed on the lights and opened her desk.

  “Damn!” she said. “I could have sworn it was here.”

  Skerry loomed over her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought I’d left it in the back of my file drawer. I usually keep it hidden.”

  “Good idea. But it’s not there?”

  “Well, I showed it to Jacobsen. But then I put it back. I’m sure of it.”

  “Search all the drawers,” he said.

  Andie tore apart her desk. Then she searched Caryl’s station.

  “Nothing.”

  She turned to Skerry. He looked grim.

  “What about Jacobsen’s desk?”

  “I suppose I could check it.”

  Reluctantly, Andie entered the senator’s office. Skerry picked the lock on the top drawer and the rest opened with ease. A ten-minute search yielded nothing.

  “Shit.” Skerry leaned back in Jacobsen’s chair. Andie sat on the floor, resting her head against the side of the desk.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I think we’ve been screwed.” Skerry said. “Any pak would have been safe here.”

  “I don’t understand how it could have disappeared. Somebody would have had to know I had it, and they’d have had to steal it during the assassination. How could they get in here in the first place? And my desk is always locked.”

  “You saw how quickly I got into Jacobsen’s desk. A lock is nothing.”

  Andie jumped up and keyed on Jacobsen’s deskscreen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  She scrolled furiously through the files.

  “Damn! Where is it?” she muttered.

  After a moment, she typed in several commands, then leaned back with a sigh of relief. “There it is.”

  “What?”

  “I showed Jacobsen the memorypak two days ago. It’s still in the screen’s memory.”

  Skerry leaned forward to study the screen.

  “Can you make a record of it and kill the memory?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He patted her on the back, beaming. “Toots, I take back every unkind thing I ever said about nonmutants. You’re terrific. And when we’re done with that Mutant Council, they’ll probably get you appointed as senator.”

  13

  MELANIE SAT ON the green watercouch and shivered as she watched the flickering images on the roomscreen. Benjamin leaned over, put his arm around her shoulder, and squeezed gently. The warmth of his hand was pleasant against her arm and she snuggled against him.

  “Frightened?” he asked.

  “Not really. I just hate watching this over and over. Jacobsen never hurt anybody. And when I think that her murderer was that creep Tamlin, my stomach hurts.”

  “He must have been psychotic. A crazy mutant hater.”

  “The way he tried to strangle me at the club. I still have nightmares.”

  Benjamin cupped her face in his hand. “You don’t have anything to worry about now. You’re with me.”

  Melanie smiled, admiring his warm brown eyes and dark hair. If only he’d pull her a little closer.…

  To her disappointment, he gave her a brotherly hug and stood up.

  “Maybe I should go to the police.”

  “And tell them what?” His tone was brusque. “That Tamlin attacked you? He’s dead. The best thing you can do now is forget about him. Otherwise, you’ll just get involved in trouble you don’t want.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Melanie sank back against the tan cushions. She was tired of watching endless replays of Jacobsen’s death. Jacobsen was gone. Melanie wanted to forget about her. And Tamlin.

  Benjamin yawned and looked at the clock. “I’m wiped, kid. Stay up if you want, but I’m going to bed.” He gave her a quick, crooked smile and was gone.

  She sighed and dialed up an old movie from the eighties, landing right in the midst of a love scene. Melanie watched it wistfully.

  I want Ben to do that to me, she thought. With his mouth, all over. She watched the lovers onscreen couple skillfully, passionately, gasping and writhing. She reached for a joystick, biting off the end for a quicker rush.

  Maybe he doesn’t like women, she thought. But then what was he doing at the club? And what am I doing here? Why did he rescue me and give me a job? A place to live? She’d been here almost a month. She gave a quick, affectionate look around the sumptuous living room, lingering on the rich wall covering and fine red Navaho rugs.

  After the first week, she’d left her bedroom door unlocked, wondering if he’d notice. No reaction. She’d started wearing shimmering, opalescent shifts at home, which revealed more of her body than they concealed. He acted as though she was wearing a dylon box. They lived together like brother and sister. But she already had two brothers, thanks.

  The joystick relaxed her and she felt that familiar, persistent warm tickle begin between her legs. Hell, she was tired of masturbating. If she were telepathic, she could implant a few erotic suggestions while Ben slept. But she wasn’t telepathic. Melanie sighed. She’d have to take the old-fashioned approach.

  She turned off the screen and walked toward Ben’s door. There was no light seeping from beneath it. Good. She palmed it carefully and it slid open without a sound. In the dimness, she could just make out his form in bed. He was breathing evenly. Asleep.

  Melanie pulled aside the bedclothes. He was naked. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she admired his compact, muscular build. She touched his face gently.

  “Mel?”

  He sat up, blinking.

  She unhooked her tunic at the shoulder and let it drop in a circle around her feet. Stepping out of it, she leaned over and traced a line from his chest to his groin. He came erect at her touch.

  Gently, she kissed him. He pulled back, reaching for the sheet.

  “Go to bed.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  She took his hand and held it against her breast.

  “Mel, you shouldn’t do this,” he said, pleading. But he didn’t pull his hand away.

  She moved gently, letting him feel her nipple, erect against his palm. When she released her grip, he kept his hand in place, then moved closer, covering the other breast with his free hand. Melanie sighed and closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt his warm mouth licking, sucking, moving from one breast to the other.

  She slid down against him on the bed, feeling his pleasing muscularity, the odd, tickling texture of the hair on his chest and arms. She wanted to touch and explore everything. To be touched and explored.

  He pulled her closer, kissing her breasts, neck, and lips. She responded, gasping, rubbing against him in an unfamiliar yet compelling rhythm. His hands moved between her legs, slowly teasing at first, then working boldly, quickly. She heard a voice crying out which she realized must be hers, but it didn’t matter. He was in her and she was exploding, rippling outward in waves of intense pleasure. And he was hers forever. Forever.

  The clan elders assembled around the teak table in Halden’s basement were grim and silent. Michael thought he’d never seen a Mutant Council meeting so listless, so depressed. Even the unity pins
most of them wore seemed dull, without sparkle. And his father just sat there, his blue shirtsleeves rolled unevenly, toying with his cup of tea.

  “We must decide on somebody to nominate to fulfill Jacobsen’s term,” Halden said. “I meet with Governor Akins on Monday, and we must have consensus on a replacement by then. The faster we move, the better chance of his ratifying our choice.”

  “Why bother?” Zenora asked. “We’ll just be supplying another target for the normals’ weapons.”

  “If we take that attitude, then we really are defeated,” Halden said sharply.

  “You tell ’em, Unc,” a familiar voice said. The group, as one, turned toward its source. Fifty pairs of golden eyes watched a pillar of orange flame rotating slowly next to the silvery-gray floatsofa. Gradually, it coalesced into human form; a tall male mutant wearing black boots, jeans, a purple T-shirt and an army parka, his grin framed by a curling brown beard. Skerry. A red-haired woman in a gray business suit stood next to him looking apprehensive. Michael recognized her as Eleanor Jacobsen’s assistant, Andrea Greenberg. What was she doing here, with Skerry?

  “Greetings, all,” he said cheerily. “Pardon my entrance, but you know I like to make an impression. And I’d like you all to meet a friend of mine. Say hi to the nice mutants, Andie.”

  She nodded uncertainly. “Hello.”

  “Skerry, what is the meaning of this?” Zenora demanded. “Bringing a nonmutant to our private meeting, especially now? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Not yet, Auntie. I’m only thirty, remember? And this isn’t just any old normal. Andie Greenberg was Eleanor Jacobsen’s assistant.”

  “Relax, Zenora. I’ll vouch for her,” James Ryton said.

  “I still don’t see why she should attend.”

  “You will,” Skerry said.

  Michael levitated a white folding chair toward Andie from across the room. As she settled into it, he winked reassuringly.

  “It’s rare that you join us, Skerry. What’s on your mind?” Halden asked.

  “Take a look at this.” Skerry tossed a memorypak onto the table.

  Halden frowned. “What is it?”

  “You want to stir up our troops here? Get them interested in finding somebody to fill out Jacobsen’s term? This should set your mutant hearts thumping, folks. Here’s one reason why we should have somebody in Congress as soon as possible. It’s proof about mutagen research going on in Brazil.”

  “Brazil? Those rumors are true?”

  Skerry nodded. “They’re doing germinal tissue studies. Specific locus tests, on what appear to be human subjects.”

  “Trying to detect and isolate mutations that can be replicated in a petri dish…this is far more serious than we’d dreamed,” Halden said, face pale. He handed the memorypak to Zenora. She clipped it into the roomscreen deck.

  The room lights dimmed and the screen scrolled through the pak’s contents, flickering with blue light. Michael thought it looked like diagrams from a genetics textbook. But his father was sitting up in alarm, as was Halden, both staring at the screen.

  “Double alleles? Splitting zygotes? Are these human embryos?” Ryton demanded.

  “So it seems.”

  “Unbelievable. We can’t even get close to this kind of precision,” Halden said, his voice thick with emotion. “Not even with psychokinesis.”

  “Have any of these embryos been successfully implanted or carried to term?” James Ryton asked.

  “Don’t know,” Skerry said. “It’s not clear just how far they’ve come already. Or who is sponsoring these experiments. These records are a couple of years old, and they’re incomplete.”

  “Where did you find them?”

  Skerry shrugged. “Let’s just say a happy accident enabled me to locate them.”

  Halden sighed. “I suppose that means you stole them.”

  Michael hid a smile. Good for Skerry, he thought.

  “Spare me the moralizing, Unc,” Skerry snapped. “You know damned well that we’ve always gotten by any way we could. I remember a time when we used to sit around after the yearly meeting and discuss burglary techniques, swindles—and nobody sat there looking horrified. It was business.”

  “He’s right,” Michael said. “Besides, we’ve got the data now. Who cares how we got it?”

  With a nod, Halden conceded their points. “However you obtained them, you’ve done us a tremendous favor,” he said. “We’ve got to take these rumors seriously now.”

  “What if this is a hoax?” Zenora demanded. “Skerry could have faked these records. He’s not exactly the most reliable member of the clan.” She glared at him. He returned the look with vehemence.

  “Why would I bother, Zenora? I agree that it’s hardly worth my time taking any risks to try and save your ass, but since I’ve done it, the least you can do is believe what I show you.”

  “If only Jacobsen was still alive,” Ryton said. “I’d feel better about supporting action on this if we had her input.” Skerry leaned forward, palms on the table. “I’ve brought the next best thing, James. Andie went to Brazil with Jacobsen. That’s why she’s here.”

  Halden turned to her. “Can you tell us anything about your research?”

  “Well, yes,” Andie said. Michael thought she looked uncomfortable. “And no. You’ve just seen the only definitive proof we have of mutagenic experimentation. However, I’m convinced that there is more going on in South America than we could uncover. And I think Senator Jacobsen knew it, too.”

  “Subjective nonsense,” Zenora said.

  “Maybe so,” Andie retorted. “But where did they get those mutagenic agents? Why did the entire city feel like it was under a mind cloud?”

  “Mind cloud?” Halden turned to Skerry. “How much have you told her about us?”

  “Plenty. Stop looking so stricken, Halden. She can help us. And we need nonmutant help.”

  “Why should we believe her?” Zenora asked. “Maybe she’s just agreed to help you disrupt the meeting.”

  “Why would she want to do that?” Michael demanded angrily. He was beginning to think his aunt was getting paranoid.

  “I’ve come to help you in any way I can,” Andie said, her voice soft. “Senator Jacobsen’s death was a terrible tragedy for nonmutants as well as mutants. And a personal blow to me. I admired her greatly. And I believed completely in her goal of cooperation and integration between mutant and nonmutant. I still believe in it. But do you?”

  Silence greeted her words, but Michael could see that she’d reached everybody there. He began to feel more optimistic. “If you would like further proof that something sinister is taking place in Brazil, you could share my experiences in Rio de Janeiro,” she said. “Skerry’s explained to me how it’s done, and I’m willing to submit to the process if it will help further Jacobsen’s work.”

  “Do you realize what you’re offering?” Halden asked.

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Then, as if by silent consensus, a mild humming filled the room. Michael leaned over and took Andie’s hand. He hoped she knew what she was doing.

  Andie bit her lip. She’d come into this secret meeting prepared for hostility and anger. But she hadn’t intended to invite scrutiny of her memories by a group of mutant strangers.

  Their suspicion was to be expected, she knew. But if she didn’t convince them to trust Skerry’s information, the entire Brazilian trip seemed wasted and worthless. And the only way to convince them was to agree to an experience that unnerved her. Skerry gave her a sympathetic glance as he grasped her hand. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Briefly, she felt as though she were floating in a pool of warm, golden light, sliding along a subvocal wave of pulsing harmonies. Why, there was nothing to be frightened of here. Fellowship and warmth sustained her. The raw, sore spot in her memory that was Eleanor Jacobsen’s assassination stopped throbbing, the pain subsiding to a mild ache. And gently, ever so gently, the hum faded, the wave l
owered and she was sitting in her chair, blinking, holding Skerry’s hand.

  “That was some visit to Teresópolis,” he said, grinning.

  Andie blushed and pulled her hand away. “Did everybody see that?”

  “Nah. I shielded you. Besides, the groupmind has limitations. It can only look where directed. Or invited. But I couldn’t resist taking a teeny stroll around.”

  Andie glared at him. She should have known better than to trust him entirely. That ridiculous entrance stunt. Skerry was always unpredictable. She tried to ignore the image of him peering at her most intimate memories and concentrated on the group reaction around her.

  The large man in the dark-red shirt, the group leader named Halden, smiled at her. “Thank you, Ms. Greenberg. Very convincing indeed.” He looked around the table. “Are there any skeptics left among us?”

  Fifty heads shook in negation. “Then we concur that there is unusual, dangerous experimentation taking place in Brazil,” Halden said. “I propose that we form our own investigative panel. If we wait for another government committee, it may be too late.”

  “What’s so terrible about supermutants?” Andie asked.

  “Nothing,” Halden said, “as long as they’re not being controlled by undesirable parties.”

  “Such as?”

  He shrugged. “I can name a dozen special interest groups, and so can you, Ms. Greenberg. Terrorists. Fascists. Neo-Nazis, for starters.”

  “And you believe one of these hostile groups is behind the supermutant experiments?” she said.

  “Some hostile group, yes. What other reason for the secrecy? And why haven’t they enlisted our help? Mutant geneticists are known for their skill.”

  “No offense, Unc, but it looks like they don’t need our skill,” Skerry said.

  “Have you ever developed a supermutant naturally?” Andie asked.

  Halden shook his head. “So far, the closest we’ve come have been double mutants such as young Ryton there. But enhanced mutants developed from clandestine, possibly abusive genetic experiments, to be manipulated by who knows what source for unknown, sinister ends, could have dreadful consequences.”