Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “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 rappeling 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 girl-child 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 Aevré 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, took one stiff-legged step forward. Tachyon laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. His brains reasserted control over his testosterone levels.

  “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.

  A large moon crept coyly into view like a child peeping around a doorjamb. As they passed low over its crater-pocked surface, Jay saw low domes hugging the feet of craggy mountains. It looked as if a school of soap bubbles had broken free from a child’s bath and deposited themselves on this harsh and unwelcoming surface.

  Jay indicated the lunar settlement with a jerk of the chin. “Ilkazam?”

  “No,” said Tachyon. “Alaa.”

  “Who are they?” asked Mark.

  “Enemies,” was Zabb’s laconic reply.

  “Don’t Takisians have any friends?”

  “No,” said Tach simply, and left it at that.

  Jay felt a little queasy.

  They passed over the edge of the curving horizon and were once again in the blackness of space. Takis was much closer now. As was a second, smaller moon—a moonlette really—which raced slightly behind its larger companion like a greyhound running at the flank of a charger. What seemed like hundreds of points of winking light banded the planet. Jay frowned, trying to fathom the twinkling display.

  He was try
ing to decide if satisfying his curiosity was worth looking like a dumb shit. He’d just about decided it was when Mark took the idiot’s lead. “What are those?”

  Tachyon looked momentarily confused. Jay pointed, amplified. “Over there, looks like somebody lost a string of Christmas lights.”

  “Sunlight reflecting off platforms, satellites, weapons.”

  The words dried up. It didn’t seem as if she were trying to snub the humans, it was more as if she’d forgotten how to talk. Unblinking, she stared at the screen. Jay would have given a lot to know what was going on in that little head. Again, it was Meadows who dared to voice what Jay was only thinking.

  He held out both hands closed into fists. “Pick a feeling.”

  Tachyon studied the backs of Mark’s hands. They were ropy with blue veins, and a few age spots were starting to show. Tach reached out and delicately tapped the left one. Jay noticed that her nails were carefully maintained in that look known as the French manicure. It was strange that he hadn’t noticed before now. Strange that Tachyon would take such care with this borrowed body. Then he thought about Tachyon’s personality, and suddenly it made perfect sense.

  “You really are one vain little son of a bitch,” murmured Jay to himself.

  Mark’s hand was now extended palm up. Tach lightly brushed her fingers across the soft skin. “Happy.” She paused, then some internal spur set the words flowing again. “When I left all those long years ago, I thought I’d be returning in a matter of weeks. Then I thought I’d never see home again. And now…” The sentence trailed off.

  Mark opened the other hand. “And this one?”

  Again that featherlike brush. “Fear … because now I’m afraid I’ll never see home again.” The smile was crooked.

  “We’ll get you back, Doc.”

  The keying on a console brought Jay’s head around in time to see Zabb place a communication headset over his gilt hair, pull the thread-thin mike to his lips. In Sham’al he said, “This is Network ***&$%#@* number nine two seven five seven wanting…” (No, that couldn’t be right, thought Jay. Ah, requesting!) “Standard **&%^$#**.”

  There’s something very frustrating about hearing a language with which you have a passing acquaintance. You want to understand, you ought to understand, ultimately you don’t understand. Comprehending one word in three was driving Jay nuts. He stepped in and tapped Tachyon on the shoulder. She jumped like a scalded cat. Turned to look at him with a blank, fixed stare that seemed to communicate that she couldn’t recall who he was or why he was there.

  “Hello, translation, please.”

  There was a leitmotiv of Takisian broadcasting on an open channel. Tach listened, shook her head.

  “It’s just standard landing protocols—”

  “I want to hear it.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. We read you—I can’t translate the Network word. I think it’s the ship’s name—you are cleared for docking at hangar bay twenty-three.”

  Zabb warbled back. Tachyon repeated in English. “Transferring computer control to station beacon.”

  More singing from the station, and Tachyon gave a short gurgle of laughter, then translated, “Your accent is passable, shopkeeper, I congratulate you.”

  Zabb glared, and the words came in a sudden glissando. “It’s better than passable, you childless, motherless ass. What a diplomat you’d make.”

  Jay realized that Tach had added the final remark as a sarcastic commentary on Zabb’s social skills. It had the expected result—Zabb’s glare shifted to Tachyon.

  “Get off my bridge,” Zabb ordered, but Tachyon wasn’t listening.

  Her expression held all the joy of a Bernadette the first time she saw the virgin. “Listen!”

  Jay listened. Meadows was listening so hard, he held his breath. Jay heard himself breathing, the subtle humming of the equipment.

  “What?” he whispered. “Am I listening to?”

  “Ships … singing … telling stories … Ancestors, I really am home.” Joy rang in the words, but then she swayed like a stalk of blowing wheat. Jay got an arm around her, supported her until the faintness passed. She drew a thumb across her hairline—so disconcerting, it was a Tachyon gesture—nodded thanks, and scuttled out of the circle of his arm.

  The ship altered course again, obedient to the invisible reins of data transmitting from the Takisian station. The station slid into view from the bottom of the screen. Jay knew up and down were relative terms in space. He knew the ship was moving, not the station—(well, but wait, the station was also moving around the planet—too confusing)—but it still had a Jaws-like quality of an attack from below, a gaping maw opening to receive the little silver minnow. The image was reinforced by the organic quality of the station. No right angles here, no sharp edges or glitter of metal. Whatever this thing was, it had been grown, not welded, into place.

  “That’s not an overgrown ship, is it?” Trips asked.

  “No, the ships are a separate sentient race, although rather substantially genetically altered by us. This is nanotech at its apex.” She flashed that little porpoise smile. “We’re cultivators, not mechanics.”

  “And every family has one of these mothers?” asked Jay.

  “Yes, but not so large.”

  “Then this isn’t Ilkazam?” Trips asked.

  “No, this is the Bonded station. It was primarily built as a buffer for the Network, but we use it to do business House to House as well.” Again the smile. “We don’t like tourists on our turf.”

  Jay asked the logical question. “So what about us?”

  “I’ve adopted Trips, which makes him family.”

  “And you’re invited,” put in Zabb. He stretched, stood, and crossed to them with that grace that always had Jay thinking nervously of the white tiger in the Central Park Zoo. “The only absolute prohibition is against any member race of the Network.”

  “Or any individual who has sworn service to the Network,” Tach added, and from the looks she and her cousin were exchanging, Jay had a feeling that a lot more was being exchanged than mere words.

  “You’ve really got a hard-on about these Network dudes,” Jay said.

  “We despise them only somewhat less than we hate the Swarm,” drawled Zabb.

  “And you’re the only Takisian to have done business with both,” Tach said, and sweet malice dripped off the edges of the consonants.

  Zabb returned Tach’s smile. “I’m quite a legendary fellow.” And to Jay’s surprise Tachyon gave a sudden yip of laughter like a fox’s cry.

  Trips was frowning. “So we might run into some Vayawand?”

  Tach sobered. “Entirely possible.”

  “Isn’t that, like, a problem?”

  “Bonded means peace as well as money. This is the one place all the families can come together at any time and do business without threat of violence. An insurance consortium holds bond money from each family, and it would bankrupt a House if they violated the peace.”

  “We’re violent, but pragmatic,” Zabb added.

  Braking jets fired, and the ship gave a lurch as it settled onto the floor of the docking bay. Tachyon stumbled, and Zabb threw out a hand to steady her. She jerked away, and he jerked back his hand before contact could be made. Jay decided it was a good thing they were saying adios to the Takisian just real soon now.

  Meadows broke into his worried thoughts about the little Takisian soap opera. “Jay, we’ve done it. We’ve made it. We’ve reached another planet!”

  “Yeah … swell.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  AT THE FOOT OF the ship’s ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn’t solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.

  “Thank you for your services.”

  “The pleasure was mine.”

  She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap
of Zabb’s boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.

  “Zabb, you’ve done your job. You’ve delivered me to Takis. Now go away.”

  “It’s a free station. I’ve a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren’t home yet.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing.” He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.

  Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station—little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic—both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn’t want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.

  Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glasslike floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafés, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.