Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Blaise whirled and stormed away up the stairs, his guards trotting to keep pace. Sekal, Diverous, and several others of the cabal who had assisted Blaise to power gathered in a tight huddle. Their anxiety penetrated Kelly’s shields.

  Now do you see what you’ve done, the bogus prince thought bitterly. War is great, but genocide’s kind of a bitch, ain’t it?

  Mon’aella released a held breath in a sharp little puff. “Well, that’s gratitude. Not even a thank-you to you,” she said, glancing over at Kelly.

  Kelly chewed on bile. Shook his head. “I’m just as glad he didn’t notice me.” He pictured again all those pretty little bubbles on the surface of Fel’k exploding, collapsing in flames. Tears stung his eyes. “Oh God, what have I done?”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “JESUS CHRIST!” JAY ACKROYD exploded. “Doesn’t it ever run down?”

  Hastet shifted the screaming infant to her other shoulder and resumed patting. “She’s unhappy.”

  “So am I … I have to listen to her.”

  “I’m doing the best I can!” Hastet was on the verge of tears. Haupi, sensing her mistress’s distress, huddled closer to Hastet’s side. The creature seemed to share Jay’s sentiments on wailing babies. She kept weaving her head and mock striking at the swaddled noisy bundle.

  “Well, what the fuck’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s a telepath. She’s been separated from her mother. I can hold her body, but I cannot touch her mind. She’s angry and frightened.”

  Another drawback to this telepathy shit. Jay sighed. “Is she eating?”

  “Some.”

  “Gimme the bottle.”

  Jay stood up and almost cracked his head on the low ceiling of the compartment aboard the Ilkala-to-Alaak maglev train. Groping in his case, he emerged triumphant with a hip flask. Opening the bottle was another matter. The self-heating element sparked, and burned his fingertips. Cursing, he sucked at his fingers, then resumed his struggles. The nippled top came off, and Jay poured in a splash of potent Takisian brandy.

  “Here. I suppose it’s more humane than hitting her over the head with a bat.”

  Hastet teased the nipple across the baby’s mouth. Illyana screamed louder, then took a tentative suck. Another. Then the sound of contented nursing filled the compartment.

  “Yep, that’s Tachyon’s kid.”

  “The prince will never forgive me.”

  “What the prince don’t know won’t hurt her … er, him.” Jay peered out the window. Saw dark. “Look, now that the ground sloth has quieted down, I’m gonna cut down to the diner and get us something to eat. Okay?”

  “Yes, fine.” She never even looked up. Her total focus was on the baby. “Sleep, kuket, sleep.”

  Shaking his head over the power of biology, Jay slid open the compartment door and made his swaying way down the narrow corridor. Takisians tended to be gregarious people. They enjoyed conversation as much as their food, music, dancing, and fighting. So when Jay walked into an absolutely silent refreshment car, he knew some serious shit had hit the proverbial fan. The holostage was on, and a news anchor was reporting in portentous tones about casualties estimated to be at six thousand. A low moan swept through the crowd.

  “What’s happened?” Jay whispered to a man leaning against the wall near the door.

  “Vayawand has just destroyed Alaa’s moon base. There appear to be no survivors.”

  “Shit.”

  “Alaa is attempting to retaliate, but Raiyis Blaise had troops already massed on the border. There’s heavy fighting in Alaak.”

  “Great, that’s where we’re headed.”

  “You maybe,” the man said. “I’m getting off in Fanja.”

  “Hastet benasari Julali has closed her restaurant. Isn’t that interesting?”

  The so-casual way Taj asked the question put Tisianne on guard. Slowly she dropped the re’ba’bi and bow and rested them on her knees. Pandasala had done a good job creating the illusion Tis was still pregnant, but the padding dragged at her weary, aching body. The bed was beckoning, and fourteen hours after her grueling labor had ended, Tis was in no mood to be entertaining. Especially with the news coming out of Alaa. Surely Jay would have heard and made adjustments to the plan.

  She forced her attention back to Taj. “Is there some reason this should interest me?”

  “Your human is very interested in Hastet.”

  “Jay is very interested in women. Did you like that music? It’s Mozart, a human composer who I think stands up well to Takisian comparisons.”

  “Very nice.” Taj stood and wandered the room, paused to handle an exquisite antique vase. “I haven’t seen Ackroyd brant Lois for several days.”

  Tis shrugged and reminded herself to push off awkwardly from the settee. She waddled toward the table. Taj was suddenly blocking her way.

  “Spare me the performance, nephew.” And gripping the neck of her gown, he yanked, ripping it away to reveal the padding.

  For a long moment they matched looks, then Tis pulled the mutilated edges of her gown together. “How long have you known?”

  “M.I.S. has been on her since your human first became involved.”

  “I could have trusted you,” Tis mused.

  “No. If I’d known in advance, I would have stopped you. But once you’d succeeded so brilliantly, I couldn’t bear to interfere. It was a routine psi scan early yesterday morning that revealed your mental signature.” Taj ended with a shrug.

  Tis slowly removed the disguising padding and laid it aside on the bed. “I realize you must show diligence for Zabb,” she said slowly, then looked at Taj. “But I thank you for the time you did give them.”

  She held back nothing during the interrogation save her sisters’ involvement in the plot. She hoped her candor would keep Zabb out of her head. It hadn’t worked. Zabb twisted everything from her mind. Not content with the details of the plot, he absorbed, dissected, and examined her life, dreams, goals, hopes, and fears. So now she added to an aching body an aching psyche. It was mind rape, and she flung the accusation at her tormentor as she struggled to break the psychic embrace.

  The harrowing of her mind ended, and Zabb flung himself back into his chair behind the Raiyis’s desk and glared at her. His cheeks flew two angry spots of color.

  “I should kill you,” he said finally. “I should have killed you seventy years ago.” He sighed.

  “Mark is right,” Tis said. “You’re not going to kill me, so why don’t you stop bleating out this pointless and meaningless threat?”

  Zabb didn’t answer. Instead he sent out a telepathic summons for Taj. The former regent responded quickly. Entering the office, he bowed.

  “My lord.”

  “Mobilize M.I.S. I want agents in every city with an orbital elevator. We may still be in time to catch them—”

  “Burning Sky, Zabb! I can’t believe you are being this stupid!” Tis said. “Blaise is mobilizing an army against us. Not a normal strike force, an army. There is combat in the streets and homes of our cities. Families that have refused to acknowledge Blaise and his new order have been eradicated. And now Blaise has introduced us to the wonders of modern human warfare—he has used atomics against a civilian target. Let’s hope he doesn’t become bored with baiting us. Otherwise we will find ourselves forming the slag at the bottom of a radioactive crater.”

  “Not as long as you’re alive,” Taj said. “Much of this is being staged for your benefit, and it’s you Blaise wants.”

  Tis glanced at Zabb. “There, you see? An excellent reason for not killing me. The point is, nothing like this disaster has ever occurred in our history, and you’re wasting spies trying to locate one tiny baby? I hope you enjoy being the last Raiyis of the House Ilkazam. Your deeds may be worth a ship song. Ideal knows the Zal’hma at’ Irg won’t remember you.”

  “She’s right,” Taj said.

  Zabb slumped, and for one brief instant Tis saw the fear and irresolution of a man who has gra
sped his dream and watched it metamorphose into catastrophe. Then the mask was back in place, and Zabb studied Tisianne as if he’d never seen her before. The silence went on and on.

  “So what do we do?” Zabb finally asked. It wasn’t what Tis had expected, and from Zabb’s expression it probably wasn’t what he’d intended to say either. Tisianne wondered how much this admission of helplessness had cost him.

  She answered, “The first thing I’m doing is leaving Rarrana and returning to my suite—”

  “You can’t, you’re—”

  “I’m not, and I won’t be. I’ve had the baby, so I’m no longer a breeding female, and since no one in their right mind would breed with this body, there’s nothing here to protect. I cannot be kept confined.”

  Taj quirked an eyebrow at Zabb. “She’s right again.”

  To her uncle Tis said, “From you I need an arms master. I must get this body back in shape.”

  “Going to fight with us, Tis?” Zabb asked with bitter sarcasm.

  “Probably not. As you have so rightly pointed out, I have little aptitude for it. But there are things I can do. The reports from Alaak indicate a great many civilian casualties—”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Taj.” Zabb’s expression promised strong words to his elder relative and statesman in the not too distant future. “At any rate, I am a doctor. I can organize emergency field hospitals in Ilkala and the other cities. I think we should evacuate the children to the rural areas—foster them with farm families. Run air-raid drills, designate shelters, appoint bomb wardens, and institute universal conscription.”

  “And hope they don’t defect to Blaise at the first opportunity,” Zabb grunted.

  “Tarhiji died on Fel’k,” Tis said. “A lot of them. They may be more reticent about wanting to fight for my grandson.”

  “An active aristocracy is not something the Tarhiji are accustomed to,” Taj said.

  “There are a good many things none of us are accustomed to, but they are happening. I would suggest it is time to adapt or die.”

  Taj glanced to Zabb. “Again … she’s right.”

  Zabb made a note with a light stylus. “I’ll assign a squad of my personal guard to assist you.”

  Tis’s lip twisted. “Don’t worry, Zabb, I won’t foment revolution against you.”

  He looked up. “I never thought you would. I do it for your protection.” Tis just smiled. Zabb wrote again. “And I’ll give you that Vayawand traitor. As long as we’re feeding him, he may as well be useful.”

  She rose, shook out her skirts, and started for the door. “Tis,” Zabb called. She paused and glanced back. “If you’re going to have an arms master, you had better be armed.” He tossed her a laser pistol. Tis caught it out of the air. “If Blaise ever does enter this House, there are some conditions over which death might be a decided improvement.”

  Hastet and Jay and a lot of other people stood on the platform and watched the back end of the train vanishing out of the main station of Fanja. Jay was getting a fucking tour of fucking Takis, and not getting to see a thing except the inside of railway stations. He wished he had a map. Where the hell was House Fannija?

  “So where’s another elevator from here … wherever here is?” Jay asked.

  “Jeban would be closest,” Hastet answered.

  “They’re not, like, close buddies with Blaise, are they?”

  “The House is rather small, and they tend to remain neutral.”

  “I don’t think neutral is a luxury anyone can afford right now. A fucking world war’s breaking out here.”

  “You take care of the baby. I’ll exchange our tickets.”

  An old fear intruded once again. “You’re sure we won’t be met at the border with guards and dogs?”

  “No.”

  “No passports, no visas?”

  She was staring at him in perplexity. “If I want to move to Ban or Maz or Ss’anga, I move to Ban or Maz or Ss’anga.”

  “But you’re Ilkazam.”

  “Yes. Why should they care? As long as I have a skill and some money.”

  “I don’t understand you people at all. The whole damn planet’s balkanized, but you’ve got no borders.”

  “Not for people like us. I have a letter of introduction from my banker to a banker at CreditNet in Alaak. That’s all the identification I need. I’ll pay my taxes wherever I live, and basically life won’t change very much.”

  “So aren’t they going to wonder at our sudden change of plans?”

  Hastet looked frustrated. “Maybe, but why don’t we worry about that when we’re faced with the problem?”

  “I love it when you’re sensible,” Jay said. Hastet placed Illyana in his arms, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a quick kiss. Suddenly wars and rumors of wars became a lot less worrisome.

  The scene on the platform was controlled and very noisy chaos. Babies were bawling, toddlers were screaming, children were sobbing, parents were crying. Husbands and wives took tender leave of each other as one or the other went off to the country to care for Ilkazam’s most precious commodity.

  Tis could see Mark moving through the crowd like a wading stork in a stand of reeds. He had a little girl riding on his bony shoulders, and he was bawling out her mother’s name.

  Bat’tam lightly touched her elbow and indicated the manager of Ilkala’s largest grocery warehouse standing in evident confusion at the top of the station’s stairs. With the hem of her dress and long coat sweeping the platform, she hurried to the manager’s side.

  He seemed dazed by the hubbub, and by finding himself in the presence of the heir to Ilkazam. To cover his discomfort, he made notes on his book computer. Tisianne extended her hand, rings flashing against the dark green leather of her glove. The entire outfit, from the heavily embroidered dress to the fur hat, coat, and muff, was so overblown, but Bat’tam had insisted, and Tisianne had discovered he was right. Her subjects didn’t want their princess to show the common touch. They wanted her to dress and act like a princess. Elegant condescension and noblesse oblige definitely greased the wheels of the civil-defense juggernaut she was riding.

  The manager cupped his hands protectively about hers, kissed her wrist, and bowed. “Blood and line to serve and protect.”

  “Your service here today will protect more than just my family, but the thousands of families of Ilkala,” Tis murmured in response, and handed him a credit gem embossed with the crest of House Ilkazam. “Have your people start loading immediately.” The manager bowed and motioned to his employees.

  Soon pallets filled with canned vegetables, cured meats, and beverages were floating past. Tisianne eyed a pallet loaded with dark amber wine and contemplated snatching a bottle. She’d paid for it. Why not? She could wander the streets of Ilkala guzzling from the bottle. That would be elegant behavior for a princess. Even better if she could wrap it in a brown paper bag. Bring back memories of Hamburg, and her favorite alley.

  Bat’tam, who had been mincing behind her, suddenly stepped to her side and gestured with his carved crystal flask. Tis nodded. The base snapped off to form a shallow, flower-shaped cup. Tis felt her mouth quirk and firmly banished the desire to smile. Bat’tam raised one plucked eyebrow and handed her the cup.

  “No, it would show very bad breeding for you to drink from the bottle like a sailor on leave with his cronies,” he said softly.

  “My breeding is of the very worst.”

  “Physically, yes. But your spirit is still Tisianne brant T’sara.”

  “I don’t think that counts, since you can’t mind- or soul-fuck.”

  Tis instantly felt contrite for her sharpness. It wasn’t the Vayawand lord’s fault she was in her current predicament. He had been charming, supportive, and upon occasion useful as she tried to organize the defense of her home. If she ever did return to her body, Tis supposed she would have to sleep with him by way of thank-you. She suppressed a shudder. It had nothing to do with a sexual taboo against homose
xuality—Takis didn’t have one—the issue was whether she would ever be able to endure a sexual encounter again. She might find the terror of sexual assault too strong for even desire to conquer.

  Zabb, surrounded by guards, came striding into the station, and there was the rising sound of excitement culminating in enthusiastic cheers. He handled it well, sweeping off his tall silver-and-white hat and waving it over his head. He then crossed to Tisianne and, picking her up in his arms, offered her to the crowd. The cheers intensified.

  “They like us,” he said setting her back on her feet. Tis started to drop into a deep curtsy only to have him wave off the obeisance. “Forget all that.”

  Eyes averted to hide the confusion into which he had thrown her, Tis said, “You should enjoy it, relish every bow, savor every curtsy. It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

  Zabb’s eyes fell on Bat’tam. “If you please, vindi, I wish to speak with my cousin in private.” Bat’tam bowed and withdrew. “Why is it,” Zabb said, as he tucked her hand beneath his arm, and they began to stroll down the platform, “that nothing is ever as good as you imagined it would be?”

  “Possibly because you are perverse.”

  Zabb studied her critically. “You’re looking better.” Tis shrugged. “That style suits you.” He wrapped one hanging tendril of hair around a forefinger. “Tell your maid to keep dressing it in this manner.”

  Tis glanced up at that lean face. “You look tired.”

  “I’m trying to redesign Ilkazam culture. Unfortunately I don’t seem to be as adept at it as your grandson.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You’ve already done so much … more than you can ever know.” Zabb was staring at her with uncomfortable intensity. He slowly drew a hand across his face, smoothed his sideburns, brushed at his mustache.

  Tis didn’t know what possessed her, but she found herself saying, “Incidentally, I’ve always hated you in a mustache. It doesn’t suit you.”