Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One Read online

  The tips of Guzman’s ears turned red, but he didn’t speak.

  “You don’t have any reason not to go now, Jo,” Jackass said.

  “Oh, yes I do. What about my mother? Who’s going to take care of her?”

  He waved his hand. “That’s what the sanitarium is for.”

  “I mean, who’s going to visit her or run her outside errands?”

  “She’ll be fine. How long has she been in there anyway?”

  He said it as if she didn’t matter at all. Anger lit every single nerve I had on fire. If only I could kill him with my gaze.

  “She’s a human being, Jackass, she deserves some respect.”

  His eyes glinted like black ice. “It’s her own fault she got TransAIDs, Jo. This isn’t about her anyway. Are you going to get me my Sean clone or not?”

  “Hell, no.” I used a few Filipino swear words, all I knew of Baby’s native language. “It’s too bad Great-Granddad was murdered, but no matter what you do, you’ll never get him back. You can’t recreate him, and you can’t make me into him. So leave me alone.”

  I grabbed my handheld and bolted. I rushed past Catherine’s desk to the vator, then stopped. My bladder was threatening to burst open and flood my guts. I changed course and entered the women’s bathroom instead.

  Alone in a stall that smelled like violets, I slumped as I relieved myself. I’d really messed up this time. I’d lost my job, and Uncle Jackass would cut me out of the estate permanently—not that I’d counted on getting anything from him since refusing to go on that concert tour. Times like this made me wish my dad would stand up for me. But he didn’t visit Mom in the long-term care center or even bother to handle her alimony payments himself; he let Jackass handle all that. Sometimes I thought everyone on my father’s side of the family was a jerk.

  The outer door swung open, but I didn’t hear the click-click of Catherine’s high heels. “Ms. Lyon?” Zoë asked hesitantly. “The receptionist said she saw you come in here.”

  No privacy anywhere. “Just call me Jo,” I said. I finished, flushed, and came out to wash my hands.

  Zoë fiddled with an earring. “I’m sorry about what happened back there, Jo.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Someone had left a bottle of hand lotion next to the sink, so I helped myself. Being a lab tech is hard on the skin.

  “Maybe it is, in a way,” she said.

  I looked at her in confusion.

  “Like many of Sean’s fans, I can’t help but think that if he hadn’t been killed, things would have been a lot different. Would he have made more wonderful music, or would he have run for office, as he said he was considering in his final interview? Would he have stopped at being governor of Illinois, or gone for president of the U.S.? What would our country be like now if he’d replaced either of the Bushes, or Clinton? I guess that’s why we all want him back so much. I just never thought how hard it must be to be one of his descendants, especially when you look so much like him.”

  I leaned against a stall. “You don’t know the half of it. I can’t get away from him. Ever since I was a little girl, he was all I heard about—at school, at home, every place I went, everyone compared me to Sean. Everyone on his side of the family expects me to play guitar, sing, and compose songs.”

  “I still listen to some of your songs. They’re so...powerful, they make great workout music.” Zoë smiled as if asking me to write more.

  I felt my cheeks burn. “Simmer” had been my biggest hit, although it hadn’t earned me much. Whenever I heard it now, I cringed. Everyone thought I’d been singing about sex, but it really had been about the anger that never died.

  “I sequenced my genome myself in undergrad and proved I don’t have enough of Sean’s musical genes to match his talent, but no one believes me,” I said. “My mom’s the only one who ever treated me like just plain Jo, not Sean Lyon’s great-granddaughter. He never did anything to me, and yet there are times I hate him.”

  I waited for her to crucify me for my blasphemy. Instead, she regarded me with sympathy in her green-brown eyes. I’m not used to kindness; it makes my eyes feel itchy. I looked away and swung my long ponytail over my shoulder to finger-comb the snarls from it.

  “I wish I could take your place,” Zoë said finally. “I’d give anything for the chance to travel to another, younger universe and experience the finest days of rock’n’roll myself. And to meet Sean….” Her voice trailed off with longing. “But I think it would be better for you to go back. You’d see he was just a man after all.”

  “Hey, if you’re saying I need primal ancestor therapy or something, you can forget it. I’m fine. I can take care of myself. Been doing so ever since Mom got locked up—”

  I stopped as I looked in the mirror and saw myself. Not just my features, but my expression. I wasn’t fooling anyone that I was happy, not when my face looked shut-off and defensive compared to Zoë’s open, serene face. I tried smiling and was appalled by how unnatural it felt. Was I really going around looking so sullen? No wonder I hadn’t had a date in over a year.

  Maybe Zoë had a point. Maybe I should go back and yell at Great-Granddad Sean for messing up our whole family. Wouldn’t change my own past, of course, since he would be in a parallel universe, but it might make me feel better. Or who knows, maybe I’d prove I’d inherited his genes for anger. I managed a genuine smile at that thought. But it faded as I remembered what the trip was really about. Uncle Jackass was the last person who ought to have any contact with Sean—or Sean’s clone. The poor kid was going to grow up more twisted than a double helix. I didn’t want anything to do with this project, but Jackass would still do it even without me. Maybe if I pretended to go along with him for now, I could find some way to sabotage the project later. Now that was something to smile about.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” I said. “The DNA retrieval, that is, not the egg donor or surrogate mother part. But I can’t go back and face Uncle Jackass and all those suits. Could you tell them for me?”

  She smiled in return. “You made the right decision, Jo, you’ll see. I’ll be happy to tell them.”

  Her hand was on the door when inspiration struck. “But maybe you should make it sound like I’m not sure,” I said. “Tell my uncle that I’ll only do it if he finally makes that donation to the TransAIDS Foundation.”

  She laughed and hummed a few bars of Sean’s “Money’s Not My Master” before she left.

  When I was alone, I stared at my reflection again. “All right, Great-Granddad,” I whispered. “You and me, one on one. We’ll see if nature really is stronger than nurture. And we’ll see if I can stop Uncle Jackass’s crazy plan.”

  Chapter Two

  Guzman wasn’t kidding when he said the ship was leaving in a few days; as soon as I agreed to go, the suits sent me running around for paperwork and physicals and all that nonsense. What with sorting, packing, and sending most of my things to storage, not to mention getting out of my lease and handling all of the other last-minute details, I was lucky if I got three hours of sleep a night. Maybe it was a good thing I’d lost my job; I don’t think I could have managed everything if I’d been working.

  The afternoon before I departed for the Sagan, I hired a self-driving car and programmed it with my mother’s address. As the car zipped north, past abandoned suburbs converted to mini-farms, I scarfed down a sandwich, then dozed until the car woke me up by saying, “You’ve reached your destination.”

  The sanitarium was housed in what used to be a resort hotel, in the middle of a wildlife refuge. I stared at the spindly trees as the car navigated the long, twisting driveway. It was hard to believe a grand forest had once stood here, even though I’d seen photos of the resort during its TwenCen heyday. The area still supported more plants and animals than the parks in Chicago. I always thought it was a shame my mom and the other patients weren’t allowed outside to enjoy nature. They had to rely on caretakers to bring flowers into the lobby.

  I checked into the
security system with my ID and a retina scan, and the holo of a broadly smiling Asian woman directed me to a visiting room. I already knew my way to the women visitors’ locker area, where I showered and changed into disposable shirt and pants, tightening them with tabs, before heading to my designated meeting area. Normally when I visited Mom, I came in the afternoon so we could share an English tea on opposite sides of the glass wall. This time, it was already after dinner. I ordered tea for two anyway, but the drinks arrived before my mother. She used a walker like a much older woman, and she winced with each step.

  “Mom?” I rose before I remembered I couldn’t reach her through the barrier. “What happened? Are you OK?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine, Jo—as fine as I can ever be in this prison. I just need a little more help getting around these days, that’s all.”

  Mom was as poor a liar as I am. Her clothes blanketed her, and her eyebrows and hair were sparser than I remembered, even if they were still the same sandy brown. I’d wondered before if she tried to hide how serious her condition was with clothes and makeup during my scheduled visits; her appearance seemed to confirm my hypothesis.

  She eased herself into an overstuffed chair next to the barrier. “What are you doing up here on a weekday? Did something happen?”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You could say that.” I summarized my meeting with Guzman and my uncle. She frowned when I described what Jackass wanted me to do.

  “I hope you told him where he could stick his clone,” she said.

  “Yeah, but....” I looked down at my mug. “I told him I’d go.”

  “Joanna Maribel Lyon, what in the world got into you? I can’t believe you’re supporting the Lyon family, especially Jack.”

  I wanted to tell her about my plan to backstab Jackass, but I didn’t dare. Mom wouldn’t tell him, but he might have a spy at the sanitarium. “I’m not supporting them. I’m just going to get him to give me some of the credits I deserve.” Despite Mom’s scowl, I stared at her. “And I made him promise to donate some credits to the TransAIDS Foundation.”

  Her scowl softened, though it didn’t disappear. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  She waved my help away with a bony hand. “Jo, the only way I’m going to leave this place is if they ever figure out how to stop this damn virus from spreading. If I’m really lucky, they’ll find a cure, but then I’ll still have to go through rehab to get rid of this walker.”

  “Stop talking like you’re old, Mom. You have decades ahead of you yet.”

  “At the rate they’re going, I’ll be lucky if they can cure me before I’m ninety.” She pointed at me. “You’re the one who still has a future. You should be focusing on that. If you love science so much, you should go get your Ph.D., not run stupid errands for your crazy uncle.”

  “Well, when I come back, I’ll have enough credits for grad school, so it all works out.”

  Mom sat silently for a moment. Then she said, “You be careful out there. Spaceships, wormholes, the TwenCen...it can all be very dangerous.”

  This from the woman who always came up with a different explanation as to how she’d become infected with the TransAIDS virus.

  We chatted for a few more minutes about her freelance holo design work, but I was too tired to pay much attention. After I yawned for the third time, Mom set aside her mug. “You should get going, Jo. You’ve got a very long trip ahead of you.” She kissed her fingers and laid her hand against the barrier; I copied her. Her hands were a fraction longer than mine, and her long nails glittered like gems. “I love you, dear. Stay safe.”

  “You too, Mom.”

  We stared at each other as if daring the other to leave first. I felt like I should say something else, but my throat felt too narrow to let a single syllable escape. If I swallowed, I’d choke.

  “Don’t cry, Joanna,” Mom whispered.

  Yeah, don’t cry. That was what my parents had told me right after they announced their divorce, whenever I got bullied at school, when Uncle Jackass yelled at me for not practicing guitar every minute I was awake. Crying was weak; crying wouldn’t get you anything. Crying wouldn’t have helped my mom when she was first diagnosed. And it wouldn’t have stopped her from turning around and making her slow exit, never looking back.

  I watched every step of hers until the door closed behind her. Then I shoved at the glass barrier as hard as I could. It didn’t even quiver; it had been reinforced to be virtually unbreakable.

  I leaned against the glass and wished I was that shatterproof. I stayed there for a couple of minutes. Anger at the whole world spun itself into a protective scowl. If I’d met anyone in the locker room or the parking lot, I would have spat at them for saying hello. Instead, I kicked the tires of my hired car over and over, until my foot was sore and I was tired enough to crawl inside and let it take me home.

  * * *

  I woke up in front of my apartment building. I checked my handheld to make sure I’d paid for the car and saw “Urgent Message from Ian Lyon” flashing red on the screen. Had I damaged my handheld, or I was still asleep and having a bad dream? When was the last time Dad had contacted me? Had he found out about my mission for Uncle Jackass? I wasn’t up to dealing with Dad, no matter how urgent his message was. I deleted it and returned to packing.

  Ten hours later, after a short night’s sleep and a much longer train ride, I arrived at Columbia Spaceport, where I’d board a space plane that would take me directly to the Sagan. My uncle had sent one of his assistants to help expedite me through the final security checks and luggage inspection. He even gave me access to the first-class lounge, where they served me lobster rolls, champagne, and chocolate truffles. I half-expected one of them to open up and reveal a not-so-subtle fortune: You can get a lot more luxury in your life if you do what your nice, rich uncle wants. Yeah, as if pricey food was worth more than freedom. I’d rather wade through nutrient broth naked than go on a concert tour, stuck in hotel rooms for my own security and forced to play the same songs that I didn’t care about over and over. Only by leaving the lounge and getting a cup of herbal tea was I able to keep my lunch down.

  The space plane didn’t have windows; instead, I and the rest of the passengers got to see a real-time holo of the Sagan. The holo grew larger and more detailed as we came closer. The ship itself reminded me of a slightly deflated ball with wings. I wondered what color the outer shell was in real life; in the holo, it was steel-blue. I couldn’t gauge the size of the ship from the holo, though the briefing materials had said it was as big as a city-ship. However, instead of featuring lots of entertainment centers and restaurants, the Sagan included several fish ponds, gardens, and labs. One of my cousins hadn’t left the city-ship where he performed since he moved there six years ago. He had the opportunity to leave at any port; I’d be stuck inside this spaceship for six months. I wondered how the crew who lived here managed to stay sane.

  The plane docked in a hangar, gliding in so smoothly it took me a few seconds to realize that we’d stopped. I lined up with the other passengers, but I waited a half hour before I finally got to the front of the line. One crew member scanned my ID while a nurse took a blood sample and measured my vitals.

  “You’re all set, Ms. Lyon.” The crew member returned my handheld. “Do you have your room assignment and orientation documents?”

  I did, but I’d only looked at my room assignment. I nodded anyway.

  “Good. Dr. Pluckenreck will be available to answer any questions you have.” She smiled. “Welcome aboard your home away from home.”

  And that was that, not a reference to Sean Lyon anywhere. My carisaks felt a little lighter than they had a few moments ago.

  My quarters were four levels up from the hangar. The door slid open and then invited me to set the lock with a retinal scan. I had a firmfoam bed that folded into the wall, several storage cubes, and a workstation with a table and chair that locked into the floor. The main
area was about twice as long as I was, and I could touch opposite walls in the bathroom by stretching out my arms. No wonder they’d advised me to travel light. I didn’t think I’d want to spend much time in here.

  I lay down for an hour, but it was impossible to rest in a strange, blank room, especially with odd rattling noises startling me every time my eyes shut. After the fifth or sixth time that happened, I decided to stop worrying the ship was going to fall apart and leave me floating in space. I unpacked and set up some of my favorite holos: a picture of Mom and ten-year-old me at an amusement park, an artificially colored double helix, and reproductions of my favorite paintings: “The Scream” and “The Starry Night.” That was better, but I still felt like getting out of my cube. I linked into the Sagan’s server and downloaded a map. There were plenty of places to check out, such as the mess hall, the garden, and a rec area, but what caught my eye was the genetics lab. I hoped they wouldn’t mind if I paid them a visit.

  Every level on the Sagan was a different color. The corridors on the science/medical level were painted pale blue with white doors. The door to the genetics lab was partway open, allowing me to hear voices over an old opera playing in the background. I peeked in.

  The lab seemed to be nothing but boxes at first, covering the lab benches and blocking the narrow aisles. A portly, balding man, pencil-like scanner in one hand and handheld in the other, squeezed through the gaps, scanning each box and identifying its contents for the tall, black-haired woman following him.

  “Petri dishes. Verify?”

  “Verified,” the woman replied after opening the box in question.

  “How many? Did we receive all that we paid for?”

  “You know I’m not going to count them, Ferdie!”

  “But how else will we know if we have enough for the trip? Supply companies don’t deliver out by the wormhole!”