Aces High by George R. R. Martin
The Astronomer pulled the decapitated corpse upright, snapping the restraining ropes. The man’s blood fountained over his skin and robe. The Astronomer’s body straightened and his skin shone with an unnatural vitality as he continued to chant. He removed his hand from the man’s chest and raised it above his head, then tossed an object at Spector’s feet. The heart had been removed with surgical precision. Spector had seen films of psychic surgeons, but nothing as spectacular as this.
The old man walked to the cage and stared at the thing inside. “TIAMAT, through the blood of the living I will become your master. You can have no secrets from me.”
The creature mewed softly and moved as far away from the Astronomer as the cage would allow. The Astronomer’s body became rigid, his breathing slowed. For several moments, nothing moved. Then, the old man clenched his fists and screamed. It was a wail unlike anything Spector had heard before.
The Astronomer staggered to the corpse and began tearing at it, throwing hunks of flesh and viscera about like a whirlwind. He ran back to the cage and sank his fingers into the creature’s head. It tried to break free, but could not get either of the Astronomer’s arms into its jaws. The Astronomer howled and viciously twisted the thing’s head. There was a loud pop as the neck snapped. The old man collapsed.
Spector held back as the others rushed to the Astronomer’s side. The bloody scene had filled him with an intoxicating glow. He could feel the need to kill rising fast and hard inside, overpowering his other thoughts. He turned to the girl on the altar.
“No!” The Astronomer righted himself and lurched forward. “Not yet.”
Spector felt a calmness being imposed on him. He knew the Astronomer was causing it. “You did this to me. I have to kill soon. I need it.”
“Yes. Yes, I know. But wait. Wait and it will be better than you can imagine.” He swayed and took several deep breaths. “TIAMAT does not reveal herself so easily. Still, I had to attempt it.” The Astronomer gestured to the others in the courtyard and they quickly filed out.
“What were you trying to do with that thing? Why did you kill it?” Spector asked, trying to control his need.
“I was trying to contact TIAMAT through one of her lesser creatures. I failed. Therefore it was useless to us.” The Astronomer pulled off his robe and turned to the woman. He ran his bloody fingers through her dark pubic hair, then placed both hands on her abdomen. As he mounted her he slipped his hands under her skin and began kneading her internal organs. The woman whimpered, but did not scream. Apparently she was still too disoriented to accept what was happening to her.
Spector watched the act with little concern. From what he could tell, the old man was massaging himself inside the blonde’s body. Spector had been only moderately interested in sex before he had died. Now, even that was gone.
If he wanted to shoot the old man, he would probably not get a better chance. He reached for the gun. As he did, the need to kill overpowered him. The Astronomer had released his calming influence. Spector took his hand out of his coat pocket. He knew what he needed. Satisfaction was not what came out the barrel of a gun.
The Astronomer became more excited. The wrinkles on his forehead began to throb visibly, and he was tearing small pieces out of her. Now the woman was screaming.
Spector felt his need building in harmony with the old man’s.
“Now,” said the Astronomer, thrusting wildly. “Kill her now.”
Spector moved in, his face only inches away from hers. He could see the fear in her eyes, and was certain she could see her death in his. He gave her his death. Slowly. He did not want to drown her in it; that would be too quick. He filled her mind and body. She was a writhing, screaming container for the viscous black liquid of his death.
The Astronomer groaned and fell on top of her, jolting Spector from his trancelike state. He was ripping hunks from her with his teeth and hands. The woman was dead.
Spector stepped back and closed his eyes. He had never enjoyed the act of killing until now, but the satisfaction and relief he felt were beyond what he had thought possible. He had controlled his power, made it serve him for the first time. And he knew he needed the Astronomer to be able to do it again.
“Do you still want to kill me?” The Astronomer pulled himself, spent, off the corpse. “I assume the gun is still in your coat. It’s either that or this.” He held up one of the pennies.
There was no real choice. Any doubts were erased by what he had just experienced. He took the coin without hesitation. “Hey, everybody in New York carries a gun. This city is full of some very dangerous people.”
The Astronomer laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “This is only the first step. With my help you’ll be capable of things you never dreamed possible. From now on there is no James Spector. We of the inner circle will call you Demise. To those who oppose us, you will be death. Swift and merciless.”
“Demise, I like the sound of it.” He nodded and put the penny in his pocket.
“Trust only those who identify themselves with the coin. Your friends and enemies are chosen for you now. Spend the night if you like. Tomorrow, we’ll continue your education.” The Astronomer picked up his robe and went back inside.
Spector rubbed his temples and wandered back into the building. The pain began to grow again. He accepted it, even loved it. It would be the source of his power and fulfillment. He had drawn the Black Queen and suffered a terrible death, but a miracle occurred. His gift to the world would be the horror inside him. It might not be enough for the world, but it was enough for him.
He curled up under the statue in the foyer and slept the sleep of the dead.
Jube: Four
ON THE THIRD FLOOR of the Crystal Palace were the private chambers Chrysalis reserved for herself. She was waiting for him in a Victorian sitting room, sitting in a red velvet wing-backed chair behind an oak table. Chrysalis gestured at a seat. She wasted no time. “You’ve piqued my interest, Jubal.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jube said, easing himself down on the edge of a ladder-back chair.
Chrysalis opened an antique satin change purse and extracted a handful of gems. She lined them up on the white tablecloth. “Two star sapphires, one ruby, and a flawless blue-white diamond,” she said in her dry, cool voice. “All uncut, of the highest quality, none weighing less than four carats. All appearing on the streets of Jokertown within the past six weeks. Curious, wouldn’t you say? What do you make of it?”
“Don’t know,” Jube replied. “I’ll keep an ear out. Did you hear about the joker with the power to squeeze a diamond until it turned into a lump of coal?”
He was bluffing and they both knew it. She pushed a sapphire across the tablecloth with the little finger of her left hand, its flesh as clear as glass. “You gave this one to a sanitation worker for a bowling ball that he’d found in a dumpster.”
“Yeah,” Jube said. It was magenta and white, custom-drilled for some joker, its six holes arranged in a circle. No wonder it had been dumped.
Chrysalis prodded the ruby with her pinkie, and it moved a half inch. “This one went to a police filing clerk. You wanted to see the records concerning a body liberated from the morgue, and anything they had on this lost bowling ball. I never knew you had such a passion for bowling, Jubal.”
Jube slapped his gut. “Don’t I look like a bowler? Nothing I like better than to roll a few strikes and drink a few beers.”
“You’ve never set foot in a bowling alley in your life, and you wouldn’t know a strike from a touchdown.” Her finger-bones had never looked so frightening as when they picked up the diamond. “This item was tendered to Devil John Darlingfoot in my own red room.” She rolled it across transparent fingers, and the muscles in her face twisted into what must have been a wry smile.
“It was mother’s,” Jube blurted.
Chrysalis chuckled. “And she never bothered to have it cut or set? How odd.” She put down the diamond, picked up the s
Jube scratched at one of his tusks. “You ask too many questions.”
“Fair enough.” She swept a hand over the jewels. “We have four here. Have there been others?”
Jube nodded. “One or two. You missed the emeralds.”
“A pity. I’m fond of green. The British racing color.” She sighed. “Why gems?”
“People were reluctant to take my checks,” Jube told her, “and it was easier than carrying large amounts of cash.”
“If there are more where these came from,” Chrysalis said, “see that they stay there. Let the word get around Jokertown that the Walrus has a secret cache of precious gems, and I wouldn’t give a bloody fig for your chances. You may have stirred the waters already, but we’ll hope the sharks haven’t noticed. Elmo told no one but me, of course, and Devil John has his own peculiar sense of honor, I think we can rely on him to keep mum. As for the garbageman and the police clerk, when I purchased their gems I bought their silence too.”
“You didn’t have to do that!”
“I know,” she said. “The next time you want information, you know how to find the Crystal Palace. Don’t you?”
“How much do you know already?” Jube asked her.
“Enough to tell when you’re lying,” Chrysalis replied. “I know you’re looking for a bowling ball, for reasons incomprehensible to man, woman, or joker. I know that Darlingfoot stole that joker corpse from the morgue, presumably for pay. It’s not the sort of thing he’d do on his own. I know the body was small and furred, with legs like a grasshopper, and quite badly burned. No joker matching that description is known to any of my sources, a curious circumstance. I know that Croyd made a rather large cash deposit the day the body was stolen, and an even larger one the following day, and in between had a public confrontation with Darlingfoot. And I know that you paid Devil John handsomely to reveal whose interests he had represented in this little melodrama, and tried without success to engage his services.” She leaned forward. “What I don’t know is what all this means, and you know how I abhor a mystery.”
“They say that every time a joker farts anywhere in Manhattan, Chrysalis holds her nose,” Jube said. He looked at her intently, but the transparency of her flesh made her expression impossible to read. The skull-face behind her crystalline skin stared at him implacably from clear blue eyes. “What’s your interest in this?” he asked her.
“Uncertain, until I know what ‘this’ is. However, you’ve been quite valuable to me for a long time, and I would hate to lose your services. You know I’m discreet.”
“Until you’re paid to be indiscreet,” Jube pointed out.
Chrysalis laughed, and touched the diamond. “Given your resources, silence can be more lucrative than speech.”
“That’s true,” Jube said. He decided that he had nothing to lose. “I’m really an alien spy from a distant planet,” he began.
“Jubal,” Chrysalis interrupted, “you’re wearing on my patience. I’ve never been that fond of your humor. Get to the point. What happened with Darlingfoot?”
“Not much,” Jube admitted. “I knew why I wanted the body. I didn’t know why anyone else would. Devil John wouldn’t tell me. I think they must have the bowling ball. I tried to hire him to get it back for me, but he didn’t want anything more to do with them. I think he’s scared of them, whoever they are.”
“I think you’re right. Croyd?”
“Asleep again. Who knows what use he’ll be when he comes to? I could wait six months, and he’ll wake up as a hamster.”
“For a commission,” Chrysalis said with cool certainty, “I can engage the services of someone who’ll get you your answers.”
Jube decided to be blunt, since evasion wasn’t getting him anywhere. “Don’t know that I’d trust anyone you’d hire.”
She laughed. “Dear boy, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said in months. And you’d be right. You’re too easy a mark, and some of my contacts are admittedly less than reputable. With me as intermediary, however, the equation changes. I have a certain reputation.” Next to her elbow was a small silver bell. She rang it lightly. “In any case, the man who’d be best for this is an exception to the general rule. He actually has ethics.”
Jube was tempted. “Who is he?”
“His name is Jay Ackroyd. Ace private investigator. In both senses of the word. Sometimes he’s called Popinjay, but not to his face. Jay and I do favors for each other from time to time. We both deal in the same product, after all.”
Jube plucked at a tusk thoughtfully. “Yeah. What’s to stop me from hiring him directly?”
“Nothing,” Chrysalis said. A tall waiter with impressive ivory horns entered, carrying an amaretto and a Singapore sling on an antique silver tray. When he departed, she continued. “If you’d rather have him getting curious about you than about me, that is.”
That gave him pause. “Perhaps it would be better if I stayed in the background.”
“My thought exactly,” Chrysalis said, sipping her amaretto. “Jay won’t even know you’re the client.”
Jube glanced out the window. It was a dark, cloudless night. He could see the stars, and somewhere out there he knew the Mother still waited. He needed help, and cast caution aside. “Do you know a good thief?” he asked her bluntly.
That surprised her. “I might,” she said.
“I need,” he began awkwardly, “uh, parts. Scientific instruments, and, uh, electronics, microchips, things like that. I could write you a list. It involves breaking into some corporate labs, maybe some federal installations.”
“I stay clear of anything that illegal,” Chrysalis said. “What do you need with electronics?”
“Building me a ham radio set,” Jube said. “Would you do it to save the world?” She didn’t answer. “Would you do it for six perfectly matched emeralds the size of pigeon’s eggs?”
Chrysalis smiled slowly, and proposed a toast. “To a long, and profitable, association.”
She could almost be a Master Trader, Jube thought with a certain admiration. Grinning tuskily, he raised the Singapore sling, and brought the straw to his mouth.
Unto the Sixth Generation
by Walter Jon Williams
Epilogue
IT HAD BEEN EASY. While Flush and Sweat pretended to have a fight on the pavement in front of the moving van, Ricky and Loco had simply walked up to the van, liberated a pair of boxes apiece, and walked off into the street. The tall geezer who was moving hadn’t even noticed that some boxes were missing. Ricky patted himself on the back for the idea.
They didn’t get opportunities like this very often anymore. Nat turf was getting smaller. Joker gangs like the Demon Princes were swallowing more territory. How the hell could you fight something that looked like squid?
Ricky Santillanes dug into his jeans, produced his keys, and let himself into the clubhouse. Flush went to the icebox for some beers and the rest put the boxes on the battered sofa and opened them.
“Wow. A VCR.”
“What kinda tapes?”
“Japanese monster movies, looks like. And something here called PORNO.”
“Hey! Set it up, man!”
Beers popped open. “Loco! A computer.”
“That’s not a computer. That’s a graphic equalizer.”
“Fuck it ain’t. I seen a computer before. In school before I quit.”
Ricky looked at it. “Wang don’t make no stereo components, bro.”
“Fuck you know.”
Sweat held up a ROM burner. “What the hell is this, man?”
“Expensive, I bet.”
“How we gonna fence it if we don’t know how much to ask?”
“Hey! I got the tape player set up!”
Sw
“Bowling ball.”
“Fuck it is. Too light.” Ricky snatched it.
“Hey. That blond chick’s hot.”
“What’s she doing? Screwing the camera? Where’s the guy?”
“I seen her somewhere.”
“Where’s the guy, man? This is weird. That’s like a close-up of her ear.”
Ricky watched while he juggled the black orb. It was warm to the touch.
“Hey! The chick’s like flying or something!”
“Bullshit.”
“No. Look. The background’s moving.”
The blond woman seemed to be airborne, speeding around the room backward while engaged in vaguely perceived sex acts. It was as if her invisible partner could fly.
“This is deeply weird.”
Loco looked at the black sphere. “Gimme that,” he said.
“Watch the damn movie, man.”
“Bullshit. Just give it to me.” He reached for it.
“Fuck off, asshole!”
Weird lights played over Ricky’s hands. Something dark reached for Loco, and suddenly Loco wasn’t there.
Ricky stood in shocked silence while the others stood and shouted. It was as if there was something brushing against his mind.
The black sphere was talking to him. It seemed lost, and somehow broken.
It could make things disappear. Ricky thought about the Demon Princes and about what you could do about someone who looked like a squid. A smile began to spread across his face.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “I think I got an idea.”
Winter’s Chill
by George R. R. Martin
THE DAY ARRIVED AT last, as he had known it would. It was a Saturday, cold and gray, with a brisk wind blowing off the Kill. Mister Coffee had a pot ready when he woke at half past ten; on weekends Tom liked to sleep in. He laced his first cup liberally with milk and sugar, and took it into his living room.