Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Fascinating. An incest for which there is no name.”

  “It was a subtle revenge.”

  “This grandson of yours sounds very Takisian.”

  “If that’s synonymous with crazy, you’d be right,” Jay said. Tis and Trips winced. For the first time Taj really seemed to focus on the detective.

  “For a mudcrawler you are very fearless … or foolish.”

  “A little of both actually. Can I ask a question?” Taj nodded assent. “You’re the first old geez—uh, older person I’ve seen here. How old are you?”

  “Nine hundred and twenty-three.”

  “Jesus Christ! Does everybody live to be nine hundred?”

  “Barring unforeseen … er, accidents, which is rather difficult to do,” Zabb drawled. “We can live much longer.”

  Taj looked significantly at Tisianne. “Well, I’m waiting.” Tisianne opened her mouth, closed it. Her uncle sighed. “Yes, Tis, your situation is ludicrous, but I don’t see how talking about it will make it any worse. And I cannot help—you or the House—unless I know precisely with what I’m dealing.”

  Slowly at first, then with growing animation, she told the tale. The last great fight with Shaklan when Tisianne had begged his father to halt testing of the Enhancer on a small, insignificant planet filled with genetic doubles of the Takisians. His pursuit of the test ship, its destruction, and the release of the virus.

  She recalled the early days when sixty thousand people had died in Manhattan, when hideous and twisted jokers had wandered like living scars on the face of the city. She spoke of the few, the lucky few who were blessed with metahuman powers—the aces. Taj glanced with interest at the two humans. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that they possessed these metahuman powers. If there was a Takisian racial flaw, it was unbridled curiosity. It was already beginning to eat at the regent.

  Tis glossed over the terrible days of the McCarthy witch hunts, her deportation, the years of drunken wandering. It was then he had sired a daughter. Taj’s expression grew thunderous, and she blanched a bit. Hurried on to the founding of the Jokertown Clinic to care for the victims of the wild card. The discovery that he had a grandson: a quarter-Takisian boy who had been raised by vicious revolutionaries and possessed not an ounce of pity or morality. The outcrossing of genes had somehow produced a mind-control power of terrifying dimensions. She touched on the enemies and crises she had faced—the Swarm invasion, the Astronomer, the jumpers, Bloat—and her great nemesis, Blaise.

  “There was an ace, his wild card was to bestow this jumper power on adolescents. Blaise became a member of this gang, and to revenge himself upon me, he switched me into the body of this girl-child. He held me prisoner, and he … he … he would…”

  Her voice had started to jump, and strength drained from her body. She felt her knees buckling. Zabb reached her first. Swung her up in his arms and carried her to the settee. Her vision cleared. Taj stared down at her, white-faced with shock. Obviously her emotions, the memories, had been too strong. They had forced themselves past the shields that the old man was maintaining for politeness’ sake. Even Zabb, who would cavil at nothing, was shaken.

  “This piece of rotting afterbirth raped you?” Zabb shouted. Tis shrank from his anger.

  “Hey, guys, yeah, it’s a lousy thing, but we’re all adults here,” Jay said. “It’s not like it never happens—”

  “Not on Takis!” Taj interrupted.

  Zabb whirled on the humans. “it is an act of total depravity, a sign of insanity. It is abomination.” Zabb turned back to the regent. “If this creature is on Takis—”

  “He is with the Vayawand,” Taj said.

  “Then let me lead a raid—”

  “No.” Tisianne sat up, and rising, she moved with what grace she could muster to the desk to seat herself in her father’s chair.

  The humans were oblivious to the symbolism. The lines at the corners of Taj’s mouth deepened, whether a smile hidden or anger suppressed, Tisianne couldn’t tell. Taj had ruled this House for over thirty years. Did he resent her usurpation? But it wasn’t usurpation; it was hers by right.

  Only one man could challenge that right. Implacably she met his gaze. Zabb smiled. Unconsciously he brushed at his mustache with the tip of a forefinger, his manner that of a man surveying an hors d’oeuvre tray. Taj inclined his head. Zabb did not.

  “You are dismissed,” Tis said to her cousin.

  “He is the commandant of the House,” Taj said.

  “I have not made him so. And you must have been using someone else in his absence.”

  “Not as effectively,” was the dry reply.

  Zabb rested his palms on the desk and leaned in on her. “I am the best man for the job, cousin.”

  “For whatever job I decide to give you. Not one of your own choosing, cousin. And certainly not for the job you are eyeing.” Anger made her breath short, and Illyana jerked in her womb. Tis pressed a hand against her stomach and longed for a handful of Rolaids. “Now, go.” Zabb bowed, so respectfully, so politely, so reverently that it made a mockery of the obeisance, and withdrew.

  “We’re going to have to use him,” Taj said.

  “Maybe, but Ancestors be damned if I’m going to let him assume anything.”

  “What are your orders, Raiyis?”

  “Contact the Raiyis of House Vayawand. Inform him of my return, my situation, of the … crime committed against me. Demand extradition, but lead the troops yourself—I don’t trust Zabb—”

  It finally penetrated that Taj had been gesturing at her, trying to stop the urgent flow of words. “What?”

  “This is all very lovely, nephew, but for one tiny flaw—Blaise is the Raiyis of House Vayawand.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  BALLOONING WAS DEFINITELY A rad experience. Slipping along, just another colorful cloud among all the other colorful clouds. Unlike a human outing there wasn’t a lot of noise of conversation, but that was because most of the people were using Vayet, and fully half the conversation was telepathic. There was a Tarhiji orchestra performing at the stern of the amazing carved-and-painted gondola, but they kept it soft so a person could appreciate the magical silence of this mode of travel.

  There was one constant noise that Kelly found very disturbing—the clap of wings followed by a piteous shriek as another small bird or animal was caught and killed by the plunging birds of prey being flown by the nobles in the bow. Blaise was up there where he could really hear their cries and smell the blood. Kelly liked it just fine in the stern, thank you. And he knew the cure for discomfort—more wine.

  He signaled, and the wine washed like liquid amber into the goblet. The scent of the servant’s perfume filled Kelly’s nostrils. He snatched up the glass so quickly that the servant spilled a few drops on the embroidered tablecloth. Kelly grinned apology at the pretty girl and gulped down half the glass. Cold sweet fire. Whatever else could be said about the Takisians, they made bitching wine. The girl smiled back. There was a startling reaction from Kelly’s borrowed body, and he half rose from his chair. The horizon wobbled, and Kelly realized he was more than a little drunk.

  “The body leads, the mind must follow,” said Bat’tam.

  The elderly noble had drawn a chair close—too close—to Kelly’s. The lost human blinked owlishly at him. The embedded jewels had begun to sag like collapsing houses into the wrinkles networking Bat’tam’s face, and his long silver hair reminded Kelly of cobwebs. The older man’s gaze dropped, and Kelly slid a hand to his crotch to hide his rampant erection. Bat’tam stood, waved off the girl, placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, and urged him back into his chair.

  “There, there, Ilkazam, don’t distress yourself.”

  “I’m a little confused about my role right now,” Kelly slurred, and hiccuped his way into a little sob.

  “What does it matter? Man or woman, you are dear to me.”

  “I thought you were only nice to me so you could get close to Blaise.”

&nbs
p; Bat’tam laid a hand across Kelly’s mouth, stopping the angry, bitter words. “I avoid charismatic young men with fire in their eyes, and a hunger in their heart. That’s how I’ve lived to be so old. No, Ilkazam. You are—” Bat’tam broke off abruptly, and frowned at the small, fast shuttle that was falling like one of the hunting birds on the bloated mass of the balloon.

  The ship braked, and hovered beside the gondola. Everyone’s attention shifted to the new arrival.

  “It must be serious if they interrupt the Raiyis at his play,” Bat’tam said.

  Kelly’s focus was on the flock of pretty little gray-and-lavender birds that had just been released. “Run,” he said under his breath. “Fly fast.” The little birds went fluttering in all directions. Several of the large raptors spread their brilliantly colored wings and shook them urgently as they sensed their prey escaping.

  A man was suspended in thin air, being propelled by some unseen force from the door of the shuttle to the deck of the gondola. He hurried to the party surrounding Blaise and dropped to his knees.

  “My lord,” the man said.

  Blaise smiled tightly down at him and rolled an eye to Durg. The Morakh stepped ponderously forward. “Der’et, one of our intelligence officers from the Bonded station.”

  “This better be good. You’ve interrupted me.”

  “Perhaps in private, master,” Durg said softly.

  “Fuck that,” Blaise said in English.

  “A Network ship docked today. Tisianne brant Ts’ara and Zabb brant Sabina were aboard. They were taken to Ilkazam, and there have been shots exchanged with the Network vacu.”

  Durg watched the color drain from the boy’s face. “Oh no. No. How? How did he get here?”

  Hesitantly the spy offered, “The Network, Raiyis.”

  Blaise turned on Durg. “Why didn’t you tell me? You said we’d be safe. He couldn’t get here!”

  “Calm yourself.”

  It was an inauspicious recommendation. It lit the fuse of Blaise’s fury, and he went plunging like a linebacker through the diminutive Takisians clustered about him.

  Durg didn’t have time to deal with Blaise’s tantrums at the moment. The news of a Network encroachment into Takisian space was alarming. Glancing down at the huddled spy, Durg said, “Return at once to the station and monitor the Network. Apprise me of any movement or messages.” Durg started away, then looked back briefly. “And I suggest you not take formal leave of the Raiyis.”

  There was a sudden murmur of sound from the stern of the gondola, and a wavelike movement as the crowd reacted like an amoeba touched with a finger. With mounting concern Durg rolled through the crowd.

  Saw Kelly, running like a maddened jebali, screaming Durg’s name. The man slammed into his chest, and the extent of the disaster came into focus in sharp, hard-edged images—a white-and-red-coated bone splinter sticking through the skin of Kelly’s forearm.

  Durg grabbed Kelly and shook him. The man screamed. Broken ribs, Durg registered.

  “Where is Blaise?”

  “He’s going to kill him! He tried to save me! He’ll kill me!” Kelly babbled.

  Durg kicked into a run. Through the ranks of shocked Zal’hma at’ Irg. “Go,” the Morakh roared at the assembled nobles. They went.

  Blaise was a frozen statue, but great beads of sweat were squeezing through the skin on his forehead, matting in the red sideburns, rolling down through the blood on his cheek. Bat’tam, armed with a broken, blood-drenched goblet, was slowly gnawing through his lower lip. Blood was beginning to run down his chin.

  Kelly crept past Durg to Bat’tam’s side. The elderly noble put an arm around Kelly’s waist, held him close—but gently, so gently. A part of Durg’s mind registered this development and wondered if the boykisser was going to be a problem requiring a permanent solution.

  “Release him,” Durg ordered.

  An alien emotion ran like a furtive animal through his guts. Then Durg tensed, and as Bat’tam’s desperate mind control relaxed, the Morakh swiftly slapped Blaise across the face. “Are you mad? You rule House Vayawand. How can you fear a pregnant female?”

  “I don’t want there to be even a chance that Tachyon can recover his body. She”—Blaise’s outthrust arm was so taut that it shivered with strain as he pointed at Kelly—“is useless to us now. I want her dead.”

  “Useless?” Bat’tam’s fingers tightened briefly on Kelly’s waist. The man’s nervousness jumped in each syllable. “My lord, in this body reposes ten thousand years of planned breeding. The finest genetic legacy the Ilkazam could create. This is a treasure not to be wasted.”

  “You don’t give a shit about irreplaceable genetic material, you just want to fuck my granddaddy,” Blaise spat. Bat’tam bowed his head. “Get out of here, faggot.” Bat’tam hastened to obey.

  Durg allowed the silence to stretch into an agonizingly long minute. Gave the killing frenzy time to die. “Perhaps his motives are not the most pure, but if the reasonable argument does not appeal … consider how it would complicate Tisianne’s life if we raided the Ilkazam gene pool,” Durg said softly.

  The final flicker of insane fire faded from Blaise’s dark eyes. He tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip and regarded Kelly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Marriage is a very useful institution.” After a moment’s hesitation Blaise began to laugh.

  There was nervous shifting from the nobles all huddled in the bow of the gondola. Blaise’s face darkened. “Are any of them spying on me?”

  Durg shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m the wrong person to ask.”

  “I can’t trust any of them.”

  “You have the sworn personal loyalty of every Morakh in House Vayawand. The Zal’hma at’ Irg need not concern you.”

  Blaise was shaking his head, sending sweat and blood droplets flying. “I think we ought to get the hell out of here. I’ve got to have support.…”

  Durg held himself in close control. Watched the careful facade of nerve and competence he had constructed and coached into this boy crumbling like an avalanche. Sought a solution. Then softly he said, “My lord, the psi lords are not the only people on Takis.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “HOW THE HELL DOES a sixteen-year-old kid become a king in six weeks? A month? Whatever it’s been in Takisian time?” Jay blurted.

  “I was hoping you would enlighten me,” Taj said.

  “What does it matter?” Tis said bitterly. “Now it will require a war to dislodge him. I’ll have to use Zabb, I can’t trust him, and he may kill both Blaise and my body.”

  “Hey, man, like don’t forget about us,” Mark said with a significant lift of the eyebrows, and an obvious head jerk to Jay.

  Sadness washed across the old man’s face. “Over the weeks I’ve watched the well-bred of House Vayawand kill each other like maddened sinde. It culminated with L’gura’s suicide. Ancestors know I hated that bloodless bastard, but he deserved to be ruined by a gentleman, preferably me.” Taj smiled, but the momentary flash of humor died fast. “Not manipulated by a piece of unplanned afterbirth.” Taj sighed. “Well, his death shall be avenged. Now that I know this is a mentatic phenomenon, it can be countered.”

  “With difficulty,” Mark warned.

  In painfully slow, excruciatingly bad English, Taj said, “Adversity is a state I understand. Achieving the impossible commonplace. What is merely difficult should be easily achieved.”

  There was a soft chime, and Tis keyed the desk. A holo of the door guard sprang to life on the desk. The man’s face registered shock, and he couldn’t seem to say a word.

  “Yes? What is it?” Tis asked. Nothing. Irritated, Tis pushed. “You interrupt me, it must be something.”

  Taj stepped to her, laid a hand on her shoulder. “They don’t know you, and he’s never seen a woman in that chair.”

  Relieved at seeing Taj, the man reported that Zabb was requesting an audience.

  Taj glanced at Tis. She nodded wearily. “Let h
im in.”

  Zabb entered in his usual sweeping style. “We’ve got trouble. Remember that claimant Baz mentioned? Well, they’re attempting to ram through an elevation before any of us can react. I think we had best react.”

  “Curse that motherless Egyon,” Taj said. “I wonder what spooked him.”

  “Probably me wandering about the halls,” Zabb said. “And you know a palace, rumors pump like bile through the halls. The word must be out that Tisianne has returned. Either one of us has a superior claim to the Kou’nar line.”

  Taj summoned the guard, who wrapped themselves like a protective cloak about the Takisians and the humans and hustled them through the corridors of the sprawling House.

  While they walked, Tisianne explained how her entire plan rested on her ability to command the troops of the House Ilkazam. “If I lose the Raiyis’tet, it’s a sure bet that the new Raiyis won’t help me recover my lost body. If he does, he costs himself the throne.”

  They kept nodding sagely, but Tis wondered how much they had really grasped. Ideal! She wondered how much she had grasped. It was all happening too quickly. There was no time for her to ease back into the life of a world she had left half a lifetime before.

  She didn’t know how to conspire anymore, she didn’t want to. Resentment and weariness chewed at her. She wanted to react to the familiar faces she saw throughout the ranked bodies of her armed guards. She wanted to savor childhood memories brought back with painful vividness by the scent of baking pastries, or a particular tapestry. She didn’t want to be thrust willy-nilly into the battle. She wanted someone to bring her her stolen body and put her back where she belonged. She wanted to be at peace for the first time in forty-four years.

  Illyana sent a wave of warmth and love from the womb to her mother’s mind. Tisianne’s breath caught at the overwhelming sweetness of it. At three months the baby had been little more than a sensory sponge. Now at seven and a half months she was becoming an individual. And the problem, you little demon, Tis sent to her daughter, though she knew the ideas were too complex for the baby’s developing mind to comprehend.