Free Mutant Star by Karen Haber Page B

program exposed to publicity before it’s ready—it could turn into a circus.”
    “Not with you in charge.”
    She looked away. “I might not be in charge.”
    “Could that happen?”
    “With the right kind of influence, anything can happen,” she said. “I’ve seen university programs taken over by department chairmen. Or privatized in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, ‘industry’ experts are pulled in. Funding is changed. Next thing you know, a lab in Seoul is the best place for the tests. The original investigators are out in the cold.” Her face, normally so animated, was bleak.
    Julian leaned over and patted her hand. He allowed his touch to linger for a moment. “Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve been getting great results. I feel better already from that shot.”
    Eva brightened. “Wonderful. Want to tap back in?”
    “Let’s go.”
    Together, they walked back to the lab.
    He allowed her to apply the sensors to his forehead and behind his ears, and to reattach the microphone. Her touch was deft and light, and it sent a tingle up his backbone.
    “Ready?”
    He gave her the thumbs-up sign and settled back into the linkage. The familiar rainbow danced before his eyes. A thousand colors to contemplate. And, perhaps, a thousand years.
    ***
    Rick pulled into the red-lined no-parking area behind Green Boot Brain Shop, under the green sign: “When your chips are down, we’ll replace ’em.”
    Shog, the shop boss, greeted him with a scowl. “Nice of you to drop in before lunch, Akimura. There’s three brains waiting on your bench. If you don’t want me to add yours to the bunch, get ’em fixed pronto.”
    “You really are a pleasure in the morning, Shoggie.” Rick blew him a kiss, grabbed his grimy fiberplas apron, and got busy. The delicacy of the work amused and absorbed him. The colorful screenbrain housings, studded with red and silver grids, reminded him of shuttle trips he’d taken as a child with his parents: landing at night, watching the twinkling grids of Metro L.A. looming up and around the landing strip, the streets boxed and reboxed in light.
    He picked up a glittering minichip with his tweezer. He could only see them when he used his mag lenses. The needle-nose tweezer with sublaser capacity welded the chips in place. Steady hands needed here. Funny, but even after a late night of partying, Rick could always concentrate on this work. Golden flakes here. Shining like the sun. Like mutant eyes. Like a fine necklace in a jewel box …
    A hand grasped his shoulder.
    A huge, blurry, big-eyed creature peered down at him. God, no. Not another damned vision. Rick nearly dropped his gear in alarm. Then he remembered his lenses and pushed the stretch band that held them up and over his forehead. Whew. Only Shoggie. A familiar monster.
    “What the hell’s wrong with you, Akimura? Look pale, like you’d seen a ghost.” Shog cackled his trademark cackle. “I only wanted to tell you we’ve got two rush jobs coming in. Can you handle ’em this afternoon? It’ll mean overtime.”
    “Sure. Sure.” Ghosts. Was he seeing ghosts? Phantom earthquakes. Flashbacks from old transvids. Got to clean up my act, he thought. No more breen. No more skree wine. Take a B-12 hypo when I get home. Take two to be safe.
    Rick let the benchmech put the finished brains back in their screen housings and vacuum-seal them. Time for lunch. Off with the apron, onto the bike, goodbye Green Boot and hello open road. Home in ten minutes, brain nicely cleansed by the wind.
    His roommate Henley looked up from the table where he was bagging breen for his afternoon deliveries. The pale blue, grainy powder sat in its plastic sack. “Aki, your lady’s in town, shopping. Want a breen buzz for the après-midi?”
    “Thanks, no.”
    Henley raised his eyebrows in surprise.
    “All play and no work makes Rick a paranoid boy,” Rick sang as he opened the freeze box and rummaged in the drawers. “This