Double Solitaire by George R. R. Martin
"Stay here," she heard herself saying. "I will walk out with my cousin."
"You've lost your fucking mind," said Jay.
"Perhaps... but I don't think I'll lose my life." She glanced back over her shoulder at the two humans. Smiled. "And if my judgment is poor, and his words dishonored, I'll trust you to kill him for me."
"I don't know about you, but I really hate that guy," Jay said conversationally as the door closed. "And I'm not going to let him waltz off with Tachy. Time for a little snoop-and-poop action."
"I'll snoop and poop with you." Meadows was busying himself with the briefcase.
"Meadows, I'm a detective. Taking you along is like taking a fucking semaphore --"
Jay didn't see which vial the gangly ace took, but suddenly there was a whirlwind, and blankets went sailing off the bunks like hysterical chickens. The little figure shrugged herself free of the cocooning blankets, and Jay felt his jaw drop.
Jet black hair fell like an ebony waterfall down her back. The black jumpsuit hugged every curve of her lovely body. The white yin/yang symbol on her chest drew the eye to her perfect breasts.
"You're living inside Mark Meadows? Holy shit, I'm going to be a lot nicer now."
"As we speak, our quarry eludes us," she said in a soft, pretty voice. There was a hint of censure in the words, and the remark was offered with a modest dropping of the eyes.
"Uh... yeah, right. Who the hell are you?" Jay asked plaintively, as they stepped through the door.
"Isis Moon... Moonchild."
Once in the corridor, Moonchild dimmed the lights. Shadows dripped from the walls. She stepped into one of them and promptly vanished. Jay briefly wondered how she'd feel about divorce work. He almost lost her several times, but each time a small hand reached out from the shadows, lightly touched his wrist, and led him on.
Down a left-branching corridor they heard voices: Zabb's clear tenor, and Tachyon's bell-like tones. Jay pressed himself against the wall and craned until he could peer around the doorjamb. It looked like an armory, with racks of weapons hung on the walls and several spacesuits hanging from hooks.
Tachyon was fiddling with the arm of a suit. She sighed, dropped it, and turned to face her cousin. "Are you still worrying about that damn throne? If it's any comfort to you... I don't want it." She shook her head. "And Zabb, it's over. Whether I want it or not, you can't have it either."
"Oh?"
"We've each made our choices. Mine was set fifty years ago when I went in pursuit of Ansata and the virus to try to prevent a holocaust. Your course was set five years ago when you betrayed your House and sold yourself to the Network. Takis may be a stop for each of us, but it can never again be home."
"You're the most self-righteous little vacu," Zabb returned angrily. "You pretend it was necessary for you to deal with the Network in order to protect Takis. Abortion! It was self-interest, pure and simple. Why don't you admit that all this altruism is really just a pose to cover your pathetic grandstanding for attention?
"You couldn't hold your own in the true Takisian fashion -- no aptitude for command, and no stomach for war. Even your science -- you were a synthesizer, not an innovator. You didn't invent the Enhancer project, you could only build on the work of others.
"You destroy everything you touch, Tis. Poor damned Ansata who carried the virus to Earth. If you'd let him carry out his mission, the death and suffering among those groundlings would have been much reduced. But you got to be a ministering power, the noble lord bountiful.
"And what about your own world? You damn near destroyed the family by your noble posturings. You left me to face our enemies." Zabb ripped open his tunic, and revealed the left side of his body. It was a mass of puckered white scar tissue. Tach threw out a hand and backed away.
So far as Jay could tell, Zabb didn't do a damn thing, but suddenly Tachyon threw her hands over her face, let out a scream, and collapsed.
Chapter Fifteen
"I win... and guess what? You lose." Blaise's voice held that excited, joyful lilt that always left Durg itching to slap him.
The effect it had on the Raiyis of House Vayawand could only be guessed at, for L'gura had himself well in hand. The strain of the past weeks had written their passing on his face. Where once he had been gaunt, the face was now skull-like, but Durg had to admire the force of will that kept the prince erect and serene even as he faced his executioners.
There was no hope of escape, and L'gura knew it. Those most loyal to him had long since been jumped and then killed or discredited by Blaise. The guards observing the tableau would not embrace death on behalf of this wounded wolf.
No blame could attach to the Raiyis for not suspecting, understanding, or knowing how to counter Blaise's powers. The fatal error had been basing their test of wills on Blaise's oratorical skills. L'gura should have selected a Takisian forum in which the native could excel. Instead the Raiyis had allowed Blaise (coached carefully by Durg) to goad him into a public debate and to make the throne the prize to be won.
Demagogue, thought Durg dreamily. It was a word without equivalent in Takisian, and Blaise had used this alien power to exhort and thrill until the members of House Vayawand were roaring their support and enthusiasm. A few hot and gusting words, and they fancied themselves the rulers of Takis. The decision of the House was plain -- they wanted Blaise to lead them to this new order. But it would be Durg who would translate words into reality.
"You're an excellent argument for the wisdom of a controlled breeding program," said L'gura conversationally.
A flush blossomed in the boy's cheeks, and Durg held his breath. The internal struggle was obvious. Reason conquered anger, and Blaise shrugged. "My dear old granddaddy used to say that one healthy outcross was worth a thousand line-bred fools. For once he was right about something."
L'gura scanned the nobles arrayed around his desk. "You are all quite determined on this?"
Elidan nodded. "The Raiyis sighed and leaned back. "It can be painless," Elidan said.
"No, I'd rather have it messy." The sharp gray eyes were turned to Blaise. "You should have to clean up the chair."
Durg moved, but he was too late to stop the flick of the forefinger across a seam on the arm of the chair. The wingback detonated, exploding L'gura's head. Fragments, both organic and inorganic, pattered across their faces like a disgusting warm rain. The body collapsed forward, the ruined head continuing to bleed onto the surface of the desk.
With a jerk of his head Blaise indicated to Durg. The Morakh crossed to the chair and threw aside the body. Blaise followed and, swinging out the chair, seated himself. The Vayawand nobles watched in horrified fascination as blood and brains smeared into the boy's dark red hair.
"Impressive, half-breed. But your mistake was assuming I would allow a mongrel like you to rule the House Vayawand," Elidan said.
"I never assume anything, Elidan," Blaise replied.
Several things happened very quickly. Blaise slumped, almost losing consciousness. Elidan grabbed the crystal wine goblet on the desk and shattered it. Durg signaled the guards, whose loyalty had been carefully purchased days before, and they, together with Durg, held the other nobles at gunpoint while Elidan proceeded to cut his throat with a jagged piece of glass.
Blaise was screaming. "No, no! He's killing me! Ancestors, save me!"
When the windpipe was severed, Blaise again slumped, gripped the arms of the chair to still the shaking of his hands, and watched as Elidan choked and bubbled on the floor before him. A few more seconds and it was over. The shaken nobility of the House Vayawand eyed their creation, and Sekal slowly bowed to Blaise.
"Raiyis."
Blaise accepted their homage with appropriate grace. Durg was relieved -- it would have been so like the young monster to gloat. The men filed silently out of the office, and Blaise held out a hand to Durg. The Morakh assisted him to his feet.
"The hardest thing is enduring the pain... concentrating through it to time the return jump,"
Blaise suddenly lifted hooded lids and gave Durg the full force of those strange dark eyes. "My dear pet," he said using the Vayawand diminishing word for a Morakh. "You haven't given me proper obeisance yet."
It startled Durg. His entire focus had been directed toward making Blaise Raiyis of House Vayawand. Having succeeded, it hadn't occurred to him the boy would take it seriously. A lack of imagination was a terrible impediment to a Svengali, Durg thought as he felt, like the briefest lick of a whip, the touch of Blaise's coercive mind control.
Durg hurried to his knees and noted that the pleasure in his victory had gone sour.
Chapter Sixteen
"What did he do to you?"
Tachyon turned her head to the wall. Jay repeated the question -- louder. Moonchild was suddenly between them, sliding like a cloud between sky and sun. Using just her fingertips, she removed Jay's hand from Tachyon's arm. "That is not the way, Mr. Ackroyd. Step back please. You threaten by the mere fact of your presence."
Stung, Jay retreated. Watched as Moonchild shook back her long hair, seated herself on the bunk, and drew Tachyon into her arms. Jay waited for the usual reaction. It didn't come. Instead Tach sighed and relaxed against the slim Korean woman. Jay figured it out -- while intellectually Tachyon knew this was "Mark," the smell was of jasmine and sandalwood, the fingertips were soft, the body a place of rest and peace, not an instrument for pain. Jay suddenly regretted Tachyon's decision not to bring Cody.
"Doctor, you must speak with me," Moonchild said. "I was present at your collapse, and our captain took no physical action against you. Am I to infer from this that his assault was mental in nature?"
Tach pushed her hair back. The black and white and blond strands intermingled, and Jay thought he'd never seen a more beautiful pair of contrasting broads. One silver, one ebony. They could have been the queens on a living chess set. The romanticism of the thought embarrassed him, and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his brown slacks.
Tach shuddered. "He held up a mirror," she said so softly that Moonchild had to bend down to hear her.
"I do not understand. What does that mean?"
"There's a fairy tale among my people about a man so evil and honorless that his ancestors gathered and resolved to curse him so that each mirror he gazed into would show him his soul. Eventually it drove him mad, and his servants found his bloody body in the midst of shattered mirrors. Zabb took me on a time journey -- the past and future all woven into one, and I nearly strangled in the threads of my selfishness. And then I realized I am the man of that story."
Jay felt the anger rising again. "Zabb knows he can't touch you physically. He can't even hurt you emotionally or mentally except that you're letting him. We haven't got time for you to indulge in an orgy of self-pity and self-doubt. You've hauled Meadows and me across half a galaxy. You owe us. You've got to look out for us the same way we're looking out for you. And that means teaching us all these stupid languages, and not making us crazy worrying about the state of your head. We've got enough problems trying to preserve your attractive little ass and recover your original skinny little ass," Jay concluded.
"Zabb was there when my father was injured. He thrust the memory into my mind," Tach flared back at Jay. "I smelled the coppery sweet scent of his blood, the stench of flesh burned away by high-energy weapons, screams, the crack of lasers cutting the air, explosions, falling masonry." As she spoke, she assumed the thousand-mile stare that gave Jay the creeps. "Shaklan is rappelling down a tower, leading a counterassault of Ilkazam warriors against the Vayawand troops huddled behind parapets. A Morakh warrior whirls, fires from the hip. The laser peels back the side of my father's skull, revealing brain -- boiled and charred from the heat of the laser. The long fall to the roof. The screams," Tach concluded in a remote voice.
"You've got a shit load to worry about, I know that," Jay said. "But we've got to pick our worries in order of descending magnitude, and you flippin' out about something that happened years and years ago isn't going to help."
"We are strangers and wanderers," Moonchild said. "We do not understand your culture. Therefore, diplomacy must be your arena, and for that you need your wits. You must find your center. Our task is one of steel and strength. We can handle your enemies, Doctor. We cannot handle you."
Jay had a feeling it was Moonchild's calm good sense, and the comfort of her arms, that relaxed the shivering Takisian. Tough love clearly wasn't a winning technique for dealing with Tachyon right now.
"Don't leave me," Tach whispered to the ace.
Moonchild nodded and lowered Tach gently back onto her pillow. Arms entwined, Tach's head rested on Moonchild's shoulder, and the ace's hair formed a dark blanket for them both. Feeling very much the outsider, Jay retreated to the table and let the females bond. Eventually Tachyon drifted into another of her nightmare-wracked sleeps, and Moonchild slipped away from the girl.
A few minutes later Moonchild vanished and Mark returned. He gazed down at Tachyon and shook his head. "I heard about cases like this back from the last days of the Summer of Love. Too much dope, too much tear gas, too many riots -- overload. I have a feeling that for the Doc it's just all too much. Forty-four years of too much." He sighed. "I wish she could cry. I think the release would really help."
Jay shuffled cards. "I don't know, it's kind of a relief. Tachy was always blubbering about something."
"You don't think this is worth a few tears?" Mark gestured at the sleeping girl. The thrust of the pregnancy weighing down that delicate girlchild body. Tach let out a whimper, and Jay felt like a real schmuck.
Meadows crossed to the table and sat down. Cupped his chin in his long bony hands and seriously regarded Jay. "This is only going to get harder," Meadows said softly.
"You think I don't know that," grunted Jay.
Again the head shake. "This isn't about palace intrigues or alien warriors. The Tachyon mind wants to concentrate on the problems at hand. The Kelly body knows it's got one big problem to face. The Doc's gonna be at war with himself... er, herself."
Jay looked at him in annoyance. "Meadows, just when I think I've reached my nadir, you find something else to really kick the shit out of my mood."
"I thought you might enjoy witnessing our arrival, Princess Tisianne," said Zabb without turning around.
"Cram it up your ass, Zabb," replied Tachyon.
It almost toppled Jay, so slangy, uncouth, so human. He'd never imagined such words in Tachyon's mouth. It was almost as startling out of this little girl. It obviously flustered the shit out of the Takisian. Zabb swung around, and it was evident he hadn't intended to. Tachyon smirked, Zabb frowned. It was such a tiny victory in the mind war they were waging, yet Jay could see Tach savoring the moment.
It was the first time Jay had seen the bridge, and he looked about curiously. Nesfa and five of her people were manning the consoles, readouts, and panels. Jay gave the woman a sickly smile, and a little finger wave.
"This isn't an Aevre bridge," Tach said.
"No, the ship was built... exactly for the... apexs... no, hands of Captain Zabb and our leased body partners," Nesfa said.
"Leased?" Jay yelped. "You mean you don't normally look..."
"No, no. On our home world our body partners are four-legged... um, grass eaters. Only, very..." Nesfa pinched her fingers together several times. "Clumsy hands."
"The deal they struck with the Master Trader provided them with a ship, a ship handler, and bodies more suitable for exploration," Zabb said.
"And what are they exploring for?" Meadows asked.
"A planet with more useful body partners, so the Viand can build a true interstellar culture. They possess the brains. What they require is brawn." Zabb suddenly cocked his head to the side in a parody of a man having an idea. "I should have thought of it; Earth would be perfect."
Jay tensed, too
"Oh, man, then the Network are slave traders." Meadows's voice throbbed with grief.
It was sort of depressing, Jay reflected, to discover that all the aliens in the universe seemed to be assholes.
Zabb shrugged. "They're business beings. Profit is the driving force in their culture."
The Takisian touched a panel, and the cameras on the exterior hull of the ship threw the image of Takis up on the screen. If Earth was sea green and white, a beryl, this world was an opal. Large polar ice caps, seas of shimmering aquamarine, and those clouds. A riot of color.
"That's it? Really it?" Meadows breathed.
"That's it, groundling. Magnification factor three. We're about a million kilometers out," Zabb said.
Knowing this was the real McCoy brought Jay's attention back to the screen. The clarity of the picture made it look like an astronomical rendition at a planetarium -- flat, lifeless fantasy. But there were people living beneath those iridescent clouds that banded the equator.
"How far?" Meadows asked.
"From what? Relative to what?" There was a little sneer lurking in the words. Jay wanted to clout Zabb.
"Sol," said Trips.
"Twenty-three light-years, and change." Zabb flashed a quick smile at Jay, and for the first time the human realized just how grotesquely handsome he was. Son of a bitch, thought Jay. "As Mr. Ackroyd would say. Interesting human phrase ... I like it."
"I know a lot of others. Like, 'kiss my ass,' and 'up yours.' Too bad you won't be staying around to let me coach you in the subtleties."
Zabb seated himself at one of the computer stations and entered a numerical code. There was a soft pressure through the soles of their feet as the ship's engines fired, braking and adjusting their course. Takis seemed to be swimming away from them like an iridescent crystal globe in the ink sea of space.