that had the Mutant Council’s stamp of approval? Oh, you can’t fool me about the way things are between you and Jena, Michael. I was stupid. And a coward. Better you should have run, and found happiness with Kelly McLeod. She was such a nice girl. Jena would have had the child, no matter what. The genetic material would have been preserved, passed along. And the clan would have provided for Jena. These days, it scarcely matters if the mother is married.”
Michael put his arm around his mother and hugged her tightly. “Don’t blame yourself. None of us know if what we’re doing will be the right thing, the proper path. The community was threatened. It had to be preserved. Now I believe that, too.”
“But at such a price, Michael. Such a high price.”
“I try not to think about it.” He looked at his watch. At the white-trunked eucalyptus trees.
“Will you go to Armstrong Airbase now?” she asked.
“No. Just have to get together with my legal counsel to discuss the file.” He forced a smile. “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”
“No. I think I’ll walk a bit. The storehouse jitney can take me to the station later.”
“I’ll see you before the Mutant Council meeting tomorrow.”
Michael kissed his mother on the cheek, then hurried toward his rented skimmer, grateful to get away. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Behind him, in the gathering fog, his mother was the only spot of color, of life, in all the terrible calm of Dream Haven.
CHAPTER FIVE
.
“All join now in meeting,” the Book Keeper said.
She was a short, gray-haired woman with a generous bosom. Regal in her deep red high-necked tunic, she radiated authority throughout the room. Conversations faltered, halted. Dozens of mutants in glittering silk, ragged jeans, metallic tunics, yellow shrink suits, and green sun robes drifted toward the vast meeting table and took their seats. Their skin tones varied, from deep tan to palest cream, with a few startling shades of celadon and violet thrown in by that old genetic jokester, mutant DNA. Only the eyes were the same, all of them the same. Golden and glowing. In fellowship, the mutants joined hands to begin their year-end meeting.
“Crank her up, Bekah!” called a young mutant with short black hair, gray skin, and a nose ring. His quip was met with chuckles and nods.
“We welcome our cousins from the East Coast,” she said, and smiled at Michael and Sue Li. Around the huge table, a hundred golden eyes gazed upon them with acceptance and affection.
Michael nodded in acknowledgment. But he felt a little uncomfortable. How odd to be with a different council for the meeting. He had hardly gotten used to seeing somebody else officiate at the Eastern Council after Halden died. In fact, Chemen Astori, a slight, chipper half-Filipino, did a fine job of leading the Eastern clan. But this West Coast Council was different: looser, unpredictable, notorious for progressive thinking. Rebekah Terling had been Western Council Book Keeper now for ten years. Michael thought she seemed capable if a bit aloof. But he couldn’t call his West Coast brethren aloof. They sat comfortably, at ease, joking and clowning as the Book Keeper called for order. It was all very informal, friendly, and good-natured. But strange.
The door to the meeting hall slid open, pushed by a blizzard of twinkling lights, glimmering particles flashing blue-green, silver-gold.
“Ho, ho, ho,” said a sardonic male voice from the center of the whirlwind.
The particles coalesced into a tall, muscular, white-bearded figure wearing a flowing red-and-green robe with cuffs lined by white fur. On top of his head was a green candle, flame guttering as he moved.
“I am the ghost of Christmas present,” the apparition intoned. “So be good, for goodness’ sake.”
The group broke into applause and laughter. The “ghost” bowed deeply, scattering wax everywhere, and slowly, the festive robes darkened, shrank to
Michael put his arm around his mother and hugged her tightly. “Don’t blame yourself. None of us know if what we’re doing will be the right thing, the proper path. The community was threatened. It had to be preserved. Now I believe that, too.”
“But at such a price, Michael. Such a high price.”
“I try not to think about it.” He looked at his watch. At the white-trunked eucalyptus trees.
“Will you go to Armstrong Airbase now?” she asked.
“No. Just have to get together with my legal counsel to discuss the file.” He forced a smile. “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”
“No. I think I’ll walk a bit. The storehouse jitney can take me to the station later.”
“I’ll see you before the Mutant Council meeting tomorrow.”
Michael kissed his mother on the cheek, then hurried toward his rented skimmer, grateful to get away. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Behind him, in the gathering fog, his mother was the only spot of color, of life, in all the terrible calm of Dream Haven.
CHAPTER FIVE
.
“All join now in meeting,” the Book Keeper said.
She was a short, gray-haired woman with a generous bosom. Regal in her deep red high-necked tunic, she radiated authority throughout the room. Conversations faltered, halted. Dozens of mutants in glittering silk, ragged jeans, metallic tunics, yellow shrink suits, and green sun robes drifted toward the vast meeting table and took their seats. Their skin tones varied, from deep tan to palest cream, with a few startling shades of celadon and violet thrown in by that old genetic jokester, mutant DNA. Only the eyes were the same, all of them the same. Golden and glowing. In fellowship, the mutants joined hands to begin their year-end meeting.
“Crank her up, Bekah!” called a young mutant with short black hair, gray skin, and a nose ring. His quip was met with chuckles and nods.
“We welcome our cousins from the East Coast,” she said, and smiled at Michael and Sue Li. Around the huge table, a hundred golden eyes gazed upon them with acceptance and affection.
Michael nodded in acknowledgment. But he felt a little uncomfortable. How odd to be with a different council for the meeting. He had hardly gotten used to seeing somebody else officiate at the Eastern Council after Halden died. In fact, Chemen Astori, a slight, chipper half-Filipino, did a fine job of leading the Eastern clan. But this West Coast Council was different: looser, unpredictable, notorious for progressive thinking. Rebekah Terling had been Western Council Book Keeper now for ten years. Michael thought she seemed capable if a bit aloof. But he couldn’t call his West Coast brethren aloof. They sat comfortably, at ease, joking and clowning as the Book Keeper called for order. It was all very informal, friendly, and good-natured. But strange.
The door to the meeting hall slid open, pushed by a blizzard of twinkling lights, glimmering particles flashing blue-green, silver-gold.
“Ho, ho, ho,” said a sardonic male voice from the center of the whirlwind.
The particles coalesced into a tall, muscular, white-bearded figure wearing a flowing red-and-green robe with cuffs lined by white fur. On top of his head was a green candle, flame guttering as he moved.
“I am the ghost of Christmas present,” the apparition intoned. “So be good, for goodness’ sake.”
The group broke into applause and laughter. The “ghost” bowed deeply, scattering wax everywhere, and slowly, the festive robes darkened, shrank to
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