Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One (7 page)

I pulled a sampler out of my purse, then rose and approached him. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “You’re still unique no matter how many copies my uncle wants.”

He slept on, offering me no absolution.

I clicked the sampler open, exposing the tip. I gentl
y pried Sean’s lips apart with one hand and ran the tip over the lining of his mouth. There were plenty of freshly-shed cells there. Some of the cells would still be alive and proliferate in the human-cell-specific medium stored in the sampler. For good measure, I opened the other end of the sample, which contained a preservative, and collected more cells. I covered both ends to prevent contamination, then opened a slit in the center for airflow.

Sean didn’t feel a thing.

I contemplated the sampler, admiring its microscopic contents. The cells I had just gathered contained forty-six chromosomes in twenty-three pairs. If I took all the chromosomes from just one cell and carefully laid them end to end, they’d stretch out to about two meters, a little longer than Sean himself. But evolution had packaged the DNA so neatly it all fit in a space just a millionth of a meter across. And in the approximately 30,000 genes encoded in all this DNA were instructions for making one human Caucasian male, thin, black-haired and blue-eyed, with a long nose, bad eyesight, and musical and linguistic gifts.

Who says there’s no poetry in science?

I collected a second sample as a backup, then labeled both samplers with Sean’s name, my own, and the date. All I had to do now was make sure they were kept at room temperature and received adequate airflow. And turn them over to Pluckenreck so my uncle could create a clone to exploit. I grimaced at the thought.

I hid the samplers back in my purse,
then shook Sean. “Sean, Sean, wake up! Wake up and go to bed.”

When I did rouse him, he was too tired to appreciate the joke. I helped him make his way over to the sofa, where Grandma Mary had laid out a blanket, pillow, and a change of clothes for him. He lay down, still fully clothed. “Don’t I
get a goodnight kiss?” he mumbled as I tucked him in.

I kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, Sean.”

“G’night…cousin.” He was soon asleep again.

I crept upstairs and washed up as quietly as I could. I thought I would have trouble falling asleep, but I think I slep
t as soon as I excavated the bed and fell into it.

I did have an odd dream, though. Sean and I were back at the White Knight, alone. I sat in the front row, so close I could kick the stage, and Sean sat on the edge, feet dangling over as he strummed his gu
itar. “Jo, Jo, something to do before you go,” he chanted.

I woke late and lay there for a while, staring at the sunlight coming through the window. Sean had given me several gifts last night: the gift of tears, the gift of my own identity, and of course,
the gift of his DNA. Though he hadn’t meant to give them to me, I still owed him a debt. I could think of only one thing that could equal what he had given me: a chance to escape his murderer in nineteen years.

Chapter Se
ven

As I washed myself and got dressed, I tried to figure out how to steer my great-granddad away from the fate he’d suffered in my universe. Unlike Eliot’s
Prufrock or my nemesis Pluckenreck, I dared disturb the universe; there was no reason to expect this universe to follow mine. But assuming it did and Sean’s life here was identical to the one I’d memorized, how could I save him from a fate years away without messing up the rest of his life? Maybe I could warn Sean about his possible fate but emphasize it might not happen. But I couldn’t tell him now. Even if he believed me, it seemed cruel. Better to let him live his life normally as long as possible. I’d have to write him a message and put it in a time capsule or something similar. I couldn’t leave it in the house; Grandma Mary might find it when she cleaned.

Someone knocked on the door. “Are you up yet,
Jobanana?” Sean called. “I want a new shirt.”

I threw the rest of my clothing in my suitcase,
then opened the door. “The room’s all yours.”

Grandma Mary was preparing oatmeal for breakfast. She refused my offer to help, so I drifted back into the living room and stared at Sean’s guitar, sitting in one of the chairs as if it was another member of this household. I had no reason to stay here any
more; I could make some excuse after breakfast and leave forever. The idea saddened me more than I’d thought it would. But George waited for me back on the
Sagan
, and I needed to make things right with him. Plus now that I had what Uncle Jackass wanted, I had to figure out how to deny it to him.

Sean joined me while I was still contemplating his guitar. “Thinking of dropping your science and taking up music?” he asked in a half-mocking tone.

I shuddered; I hadn’t told him about the concert tour I’d escaped from. “It’s not for me.”

“Of course not.” A sly gleam in his eyes contradicted his agreeable tone. “A girl like you wouldn’t know the first thing about playing anyway.”

I clenched and unclenched my hands at his challenge. Damn it, it was as if he and Uncle Jackass had conspired to goad me into playing again. Part of me wanted to ignore the gibe, but another part wanted to show Sean up. Could I do it? Though he was a passionate guitarist, he wasn’t the most technically brilliant one. I knew I’d never match Sean at the height of his touring years, but maybe at this age we had similar experience.

With a smirk, Sean snatched his guitar and strummed the opening to one of the songs he’d played last night. His long fingers glided over the strings. No, I wasn’t goi
ng to match him, but I could show him that he’d underestimated me.

I reached for his instrument. “May I try?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You know how?”

“A bit.” Even if I’d wanted to reveal my past experience with the guitar, I don’t think I coul
d have told him; my mouth was drier than the strings.

“All right, then.”

He helped me settle the guitar into place, then stood back and crossed his arms. I wasn’t sure if he was worried I was going to damage his precious instrument or just waiting for me to fail so he could laugh.

I gripped the guitar as if trying to hold on to my sense of self. Images blurred through my memory: practicing in front of my cousins and uncle, enduring
their insults; the endless parade of performances, each one more terrifying than the previous one. Why was I doing this? I could just hand the guitar over to Sean and walk away, and no one from my world would ever know I’d chickened out. But I would. This song wouldn’t be for Uncle Jackass or George or even Sean; it would just be for me.

I closed my eyes and felt my way through “Be-Bop-A-Lula.” Sean prompted me when I forgot which chord came next.

“Not bad,” he said in a grudging tone. “Here, let me show you a thing or two.”

He guided my hands into position for a few chords, and w
e went over the song again. This time it went a little easier. I played it one more time, a little faster. Sean sang along while tapping the beat with his foot. Our music filled the room, connecting us on a level beyond that of our common blood.

When the s
ong was over, I gave the guitar back to him. My fingertips were raw, but I felt exhilarated. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad to see I’m not as rusty as I thought.” I still never wanted to play in public again, but maybe just for myself or for good friends. All right, mostly for George. The important thing was I didn’t have to reject everything Sean had done to separate myself from him.

“You’ve got some talent,” he said. “If they ever let you out of the lab, you should come visit me and my band. We could teach y
ou some tricks.”

I couldn’t help asking, “Are you saying I should audition?”

“Lord, no.” He looked taken aback. “I can’t possibly have a girl on the stage with me. How could I score with the fans?”

I wanted to smack him for his sexist attitude, even though
I knew he’d drop it when he met my great-grandmother, Baby. Revenge would have to wait.

Grandma Mary called us to the kitchen for oatmeal with lots of butter, bread with jam, and coffee. Sean brought in the newspaper and spread it over the white tableclot
h as if we all had to read it at the same time. Everything tasted rich; I had a second helping even though I was sure I’d already put on five kilos from this trip. When I was done, I leaned back with my coffee, savoring the quiet sense of belonging. But did I really? Every glance at the kitchen, with oddly shaped appliances, religious decorations, and food I didn’t recognize, reminded me this wasn’t my era. It was time to go home, and I had to make up an excuse to leave.

I glanced at Sean’s paper, and one o
f the column headings caught my eye. “Rooms to Let,” I said. “May I see that?”

Sean slid the page over without looking up.

I made a show of scanning the listings. “This one looks promising.” I pointed to one at random. “Do you mind if I call them?”

“Of cou
rse not, Joanna, but you needn’t be in such a rush to leave us,” Grandma Mary said. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

I felt a rush of warmth—and guilt. “Thanks, Grandma Mary. It’s nice of you to offer, but it wouldn’t work out.”

Her fallen expression made me feel even worse. Sean glanced up long enough to say, “She needs to be closer to school, Grandma.”

She nodded, though she still didn’t look convinced.

Despite my lessons on board the
Sagan
, I didn’t feel comfortable using TwenCen phones, so I positioned myself so Sean and his grandmother couldn’t see me pretend to dial the numbers. I felt silly trying asking questions of no one. It didn’t help when Grandma Mary started offering advice like, “Ask what kind of furnishings it has,” and Sean countered with “Ask if it comes with a free elephant.” When I finally hung up, the phone was smudged. Ink from the newspaper? I tried rubbing it off, then I had to wash my hands to clean them too.

“They said I could
come look at it right away,” I told my relatives. “I may as well bring my suitcase.”

“Is that it? Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“I’ll have it shipped out later.”

“All right.” She collected the empty dishes. “Will you be back for dinner?”

I sighed. “Probably not.”

“Well, i
f it doesn’t work out, the offer still stands. I hope it’s in a good part of town! Let us know, will you?” She hugged me before returning to the sink. “Sean, help her with her things, that’s a good lad.”

I didn’t mind that Sean’s sexist attitudes required
him to carry my suitcase, despite his crack about how I’d packed bricks instead of clothes. The day was cloudy and chilly, with a wind strong enough to make conversation difficult. I tried not to study the neighborhood too much as we walked, even though I knew it would be the last time I saw it. This was supposed to be a casual parting, even if it was final.

Sean dropped my suitcase as soon as we reached the shelter. “Lucky you, moving out,” he said. “I can hardly wait until I can be on my own.”

“Your grandmother seems nice,” I said.

“Yeah, but she’s always telling me what to do.” He gave me a sharp glance. “Hey, maybe when you’re settled, I can drop by.”

“There’s a roommate,” I improvised. “Two, even.”

“I hope they’re good-looking.”

“I think you have plenty of girls chasing after you already.”

He grinned at that.

The bus turned the corner. Soon, I’d never see him again. Why was I more disappointed than relieved?

As the bus slowed, I turned and hugged him. “Thanks, Sean.”

Still in my grip, he shrugged. “For what?”

“For...everything.”

Sean took charge of my suitcase while I searched through my purse for the fare. When I was set, I boarded the bus and paid as smoothly as if I’d been born into this time. I sat by the window so I could watch him walk away. Instead, he stood there and stared at me, as if he suspected this was a final parting. Suddenly, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, making it stick up in all directions. Then he made circles around his eyes with his fingers. What the hell was he doing? It took me a few seconds to figure out he was probably imitating Einstein. Yeah, I really had a chance at matching that genius; our family just had the madness. Still, I couldn’t help grinning as we pulled away.

* * *

Now that I no longer had to deal with Sean, I could think about how to thwart my uncle. I turned over ideas in my mind. Someone in the genetics lab would probably compare my sample to Jackass’s own DNA. I didn’t have any way to alter the sample, and I had to hand it over if I wanted to see George ever again. But he’d already said he wasn’t willing to help me alter the DNA. How was I going to stop my uncle from creating a child from Sean Lyon’s genes?

I could see two possible futures for the child. In one, the clone would be raised on a steady
diet of Lyonism, much as I had been. He’d be trained on guitar, piano, and voice, only he’d be pushed harder than I, a mere girl, had been. Every scribble or doodle of his would be scrutinized for signs of Sean’s humor. Every day, he’d have Sean held up before him as an example of greatness; Sean’s faults would be downplayed, even made into virtues. I knew from my own childhood what that would be like, and I wouldn’t go through it again for all the millions Uncle Jackass had squirreled away.

The second alte
rnative was even worse. Uncle Jackass and the suits at World Music had to know Sean’s genius was as much a product of his environment as his genes. If they wanted a second Sean Lyon, they’d have to recreate the original Sean’s environment. How far would they go with that? Would they give the child fake parents instructed to abandon him? When the boy was a teenager, would they let him resume a relationship with his mother, then have her pretend to get cancer and die?

I shuddered. They might very well do that
.

No matter which scenario played out, this boy was doomed to an unhappy childhood. I knew what it was like being Sean Lyon’s great-granddaughter; it would be infinitely worse to be his clone, much worse than what Grandpa John and Great-Uncle Charles had e
ndured. He’d never have a life of his own or be encouraged to develop as a normal child. No one would ever see him as a unique person; they’d always see him as Sean Lyon’s clone….

Unless they’d been through a similar hell.

For this boy to have any chance at all, I’d have to become his mother.

Chapter Eight

I’d never given motherhood much thought before that moment. Why would I, when I was so busy with work and my too-little time for gradua
te school? I had no siblings, and my cousins were older than me. All I had to go on about kids was my own childhood, something I tried to put behind me. Weren’t kids loud, messy, and expensive? Why would I saddle myself with one when I didn’t have to? Uncle Jackass was more than willing to raise a kid; let him have all the headaches. Then I reminded myself who would suffer if my uncle got what he wanted, and it wasn’t going to be him. Jackass would pay someone to change the kid’s diapers; he’d just show up to brainwash the boy. At least if I was the mother, I could provide some necessary re-education—if I could keep the child. Knowing my uncle, he’d probably try to rip the boy out of me, chewing through the umbilical cord himself if he had to. I clamped my own teeth together. No; I couldn’t let that happen. But how could I stop him?

As much as I wanted to see George, I needed to think about this newest problem before I returned to the
Sagan
and surrendered Sean’s DNA. So I got off the bus and wandered around downtown for a while. The streets, while not deserted, felt sparser than I’d expected. Many stores were closed. As I passed a drugstore that happened to be open, I remembered my resolution to leave Sean a warning. I went in and bought a pen and stationery with hearts printed on it. It didn’t suit either of us, but it was the least offensive pattern I could find. Then I found a deli and ordered lunch. The tuna salad was flavorful, but the coffee was weaker than what I was used to; it took two and a half cups before I finally figured out what to say: