Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “You’re probably right,” Zabb said.

  “Well, do something!” Tis demanded.

  And before he could inquire as to just what she had in mind, there was a soft pop, and a pulse rifle appeared in the cell and went clattering to the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  IT WAS A COCKTAIL party from hell. They were aboard an elaborately decorated ship that had obligingly given them a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. It was like sitting on a chair balanced on a plate in the blue black stratosphere. Kelly, already queasy from the sights and smells of his first battle, was not handling this too well. His head flared pain in time to the beating of his heart.

  Blaise lounged in a thronelike chair with the notables of House Vayawand fluttering about him. Tarhiji servants drifted about with trays of food and drink.

  Why are they doing this? Why are they listening to him? Nothing’s changed, thought Kelly. They’re still the cannon fodder, only now they get to die in much larger numbers. There’s going to be nothing left of Takis when Blaise is finished.

  Durg entered and, crossing to Blaise, bent in low and whispered something. A smile broke across the too-full lips. Blaise stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Every great victory should be celebrated with fireworks. I give you”—he gestured toward the sleek curving side of the elevator visible out the left side of the ship—“Raiyis Blaise’s patented fireworks!”

  The circular tube of the elevator seemed to be trying to hula. Then, under the stresses of gravitational pull and orbital spin, it snapped. Capsules spilled like seeds from a pollinating dandelion. The upper section made a bid for orbital stability. The lower section continued to shatter under the force of the collapse. Each piece and the capsules flared like sparklers as they burned up in the atmosphere.

  It created a lovely light display for half the inhabitants of Takis, but a deadly skyfall for the inhabitants of Ban. Because several thousand feet of this thing wasn’t going to burn up. It was going to collapse like a cut sequoia, crushing everything in its path.

  Kelly rose and snatched a glass from a passing servant. “Here’s to Raiyis Blaise’s patented genocide!”

  Durg hit him in the mouth.

  And the party was very definitely over.

  Everybody had gotten very excited when the troops pulled out of the center of Ban. Terrified citizens came creeping out of hidey-holes, and most of the conversations Jay overheard seemed to focus, with desperate self-delusion, on the fact that this had clearly been an aberration. Blaise was a friend and champion of the Tarhiji, he would never send his soldiers against the ordinary folk of Jeban. This had to be an action by some Most Born general. Raiyis Blaise must have discovered his general’s overzealousness, so the withdrawal was no doubt due to Blaise.…

  “We can try the elevator now,” Hastet said as they crept from their refuge in the basement of a burned-out building.

  “Hasti, forget the goddamn elevator. Blaise did not pull his troops out as an act of kindness. He’s up to—”

  But what Blaise might be planning was lost as a sound of terrifying and earsplitting magnitude rolled across the city. Jay had heard metal being stressed. This was metal screaming in denial.

  They stared at the elevator, gleaming like an ice column, and as they watched, it began to collapse, falling straight down as if compressed by a great hand. Jay flung an arm around Hastet and threw them both to the ground. Illyana let out a squeak of protest as she was crushed against Hastet’s chest. Then all sound ended as a sound beyond hearing assaulted the ears. The ground heaved and bucked, ripping Jay’s arms loose from Hastet. Dirt pattered down on him. Then the shock wave hit, sending Jay rolling across the street like a windblown leaf.

  For a long moment it seemed as if the planet itself was shocked into silence, or perhaps it was only a trick as abused ears tried to cope with the cessation of sound. Then the screams and moans and cries for help began.

  “Monster. Monster. Monster,” Hastet murmured monotonously as Jay limped to her and hauled her to her feet.

  Miraculously she had managed to hang onto Illyana. The baby was screaming her terror. Blood trickled from Hastet’s nose and matted in the hair at her temples. Jay felt the same warm flow against his skin. He wiped it away, blood smearing in the dirt on his face. On Hastet’s face tears left bright runnels in the dirt and blood.

  People began running toward the great square … or what had once been the square. All the buildings within a mile radius were leveled, bricks and marble strewn like shattered rose petals after a killing wind.

  Other people ducked their heads and slipped away, headed for the city’s edge. Jay and Hastet joined them.

  They had been fencing when the whole of House Ilkazam went into a telepathic frenzy. Holostages sprang to life, and a servant brought a portable to the gymnasium.

  The elevator fell.

  Mark took three steps backward; then his rubbery knees gave out, and he collapsed on the gym floor. Bat’tam bowed his head and stroked the length of his sword like a man quieting a frightened dog.

  Tisianne ripped off her mask and flung her sword end over end. It buried its point in the floor and remained upright, swaying slightly. Her face was slick with sweat, beading in her brows, stinging the eyes. She licked her upper lip and tasted salt. It made a nasty combination with the rage and fear that roiled in her gut.

  Tis started for the door, calling back over her shoulder, “They’ll need food, medical supplies—”

  “There’s an army in Ban,” Bat’tam interrupted. “An unfriendly one.”

  “I don’t care!” Tis replied.

  Mark lurched to his feet. “What is with you? You can’t go there!”

  Bat’tam looked at her shrewdly, then said, “You sent your child, the human, and his woman to an elevator. Alaak is in Vayawand hands. Now Ban.”

  “Two out of the three, yes, very astute,” Tis said. “And given my luck, the odds are very good that—” Anxiety locked down on her vocal cords, and the words died.

  They had hitched a ride with about twenty other refugees in a produce skimmer in from the country. The driver hadn’t been able to unload in Ban, so Jay and Hastet were perched on top of a load of pungent Takisian vegetables. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of conversation—the Takisians all seemed stunned by events—and for once Illyana was mercifully silent. Probably because she had a bottle stuffed in that tiny rosebud mouth.

  The countryside was pretty. Jeban lay on the equator, and while it wasn’t what Jay would call tropical, they had left the winter snows of Ilkazam behind. There didn’t seem to be anyplace on Takis without mountains, but these were lower and softer with more gradual slopes covered by a low, thick grass/moss combination. Critters grazed on the hillsides or ruminated beneath squat bonsailike trees.

  Jay picked up one of the bulbous gray-and-red-mottled vegetables. “What are these?” he asked.

  “Pful.”

  “Don’t ever cook ’em. They smell like shit.”

  Illyana finished suckling, and Hastet tucked the empty bottle down in her carrying case. They had chucked all the luggage save the bottles and diapers, and Jay’s tote filled with Haupi. Jay was starting to feel like a real hobo.

  “That’s the last bottle,” Hastet said in that carefully neutral tone she assumed when she was very upset.

  Jay shifted, trying for a more comfortable position on the spined and unforgiving pful. “Look, this is nuts, I’ll—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. There was that high-pitched humming, and a living ship came streaking across the colorful cloud-banded sky. Necks strained back, they all stared up at the ship. It slowed, hovered.

  “Vayawand,” said one of their companions.

  “He’s looking us over for some reason,” Jay said, forcing down a burgeoning panic.

  The reason became very evident when one of the big ghost lances on the ship opened up and began to bisect the skimmer. Screams, shouts, and people began tumbling off the skimmer
like spilled marbles. Jay grabbed Hastet and tossed her and Illyana off the skimmer bed. The heat of the cannon singed his hair as he rolled off the skimmer.

  People were milling in panic in the center of the road. “Run!” Jay screamed. “Get off the road!” There wasn’t a hell of a lot of cover, but the road was lined with big flowering bushes. He gripped Hastet’s arm and pulled her after him. She bucked like a recalcitrant foal and stopped dead.

  “Haupi!” she cried.

  “Shit! Get under cover!” he yelled, and plunged back toward the burning skimmer.

  The pful smelled really nasty now, and there was a new scent added to the mix—sickeningly sweet, it caught in the throat. Jay clambered back up onto the roadway. As his head cleared the passenger window of the cab, he saw the driver slumped over the controls. His hair and clothes were still smoldering. Jay swallowed bile and scanned the back of the skimmer.

  Miraculously his hand tote hadn’t been fried. Jay sprinted for it just as Haupi managed to thrust open the flaps and light out for the hills. Her wings had been clipped, so her escape was made in a series of flying hops all accompanied by her shrill chittering.

  “Haupi!” Jay yelled. The creature didn’t even slow. The warning hum sounded again, and Jay booked for the bushes. The Vayawand ship fired a couple more shots, then became bored with baiting its unseen prey and flew on.

  Showers of flower petals announced the return of the survivors. They stood in the road, staring at a man and woman who never reached that blossoming haven. He had thrown himself over her, shielding her body with his. It hadn’t done any good. The ghost lance had burned a hole through both of them.

  Jay walked back to where Hastet was staring off into the hills. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but not a sound escaped those tightly folded lips.

  “Hey,” Jay said gently as he squeezed Hastet’s shoulders. “She was scared. She’ll catch up with us.”

  Hastet just shook her head and, shifting Illyana higher on her shoulder, started walking.

  It was an odd reversal of roles. As the days had become weeks, had become months, Taj had begun to treat his former nephew much more as a niece. So when Zabb had requested that Tisianne be present for the discussions, he wasn’t particularly surprised by the look of shocked disapproval which washed across the old man’s face.

  “She’s heir to Ilkazam after me,” Zabb reminded the older man.

  “What about your sons?” Taj asked.

  Zabb made a nervous circuit of defense central. It was buried in a hardened bunker eighty feet below the surface. It had very much the feel of a ship bridge because much of the same nanotechnology had been used in its construction. Computers and telepaths maintained a constant link between House Ilkazam, the various M.I.S. agents in the cities, the ships, the platforms. It was a telepathic spiderweb. Unfortunately it was fraying in the typhoon blowing from Vayawand. And that reminder of the crises in which they stood brought Zabb back to the topic under discussion.

  “I wouldn’t trust a one of them with the House. They were bred for military prowess. That they possess; rulers they are not.”

  “I think the same criticism applies to you,” the old man said.

  For an instant the old man’s audacity held him speechless; then Zabb laughed. “Don’t hold back for fear of wounding me, or out of fear for yourself.”

  “I won’t,” Taj said, and then Tis entered, with her ludicrous paladin in tow.

  The slowly revolving hologram of Takis told the whole sorry tale. In the southern hemisphere, and half a world away, Vayawand formed a pulsing purple mass. The other territories were delineated by their House colors. The purple washed like a stain across Rodaleh, Alaa, and Jeban. It formed a lighter wash across Zaghloul and other smaller Houses that had joined Vayawand by treaty rather than conquest. It surrounded Tandeh and Ss’ang. Far to the north Ilkazam shone like a white gold beacon, but the dark was coming, closing over them like giant wings.

  The various unit commanders had joined Zabb, Taj, Baz, and Tis. The men all sprawled in chairs. Tis sat primly upright with Mark hovering over her shoulder. Baz ran a hand across his face.

  “Tandeh and Ss’ang are still holding out. We’ve got to relieve them.”

  “Terrible idea,” grunted Taj.

  “We haven’t the manpower or the firepower, and we would leave Ilkazam horribly underdefended,” Zabb said. He scrubbed at his cheeks with the palms of his hands and wondered if numbness was a function of exhaustion. When was the last time he’d slept?

  “It’s a very Durg kind of thing to do,” Meadows said. “Get us to unzip, pull it out, then chop it off.”

  A young aide leaned over Zabb’s shoulder. “Sir, the Master Trader—”

  “Put the damn slug off! I haven’t the time to deal with Network cheesemongers right now!”

  “My lord.” The soldier made obeisance and skated backward.

  “Why has he held off so long?” one of the commanders asked. “He’s tried a few missile attacks against Ilkala, the other larger cities, then nothing. What’s he waiting for?”

  “He still doesn’t understand that no place on a planet is safe from attack from space,” Taj said.

  “Thank the Ideal Durg hasn’t managed to educate him,” Zabb grunted.

  “He likes to move armies, smell blood,” Meadows said.

  “We’ve got to deal Blaise a blow that will cripple his ability to bring the armies to us,” Tis said suddenly in her soft little-girl voice.

  “Without risking a head-on clash with Blaise’s troops. We don’t have enough troops, and—” Taj began.

  “We can’t trust our Tarhiji,” Baz interrupted, giving voice to all their fears.

  While they talked, Zabb had been considering Tisianne’s words, arranging them like a man searching for the secret to a particularly knotty puzzle. Suddenly he reached out and manipulated the holograph’s controls. Silver trajectory lines began to cut across the spinning opal that was Takis. Orbital platforms sprang to life, orbiting the main globe.

  Tisianne’s brows twitched together in a sharp frown. She leaned forward and studied the holo, touched the silver lines with a hesitant fingertip. Looked over at him in shock. “You’re going against Vayawand Ship Home.”

  His fingers stuttered across the keys in excitement. More silver lines arched across the holograph. “And Zaghloul’s and Rodaleh’s and Alaa’s—”

  Tis bit her lip. “Oh, Zabb, must you? This makes us almost as bad as Blaise—”

  The criticism stung. “By the Ideal, Tis, with or without balls try to be a man. This is a war. The purpose of war is to inflict harm.” Zabb turned to Mark. “Groundling, I need the friend who dealt with that asteroid so competently.”

  Mark rolled an eye at Tisianne, seeking guidance. “No,” she said.

  “No,” Mark repeated, then asked, “Why not?”

  “Zabb goes to make war on the ships—all of the ships of half a dozen Houses.”

  Mark nodded sagely. “Take out his navy, makes sense.”

  “They’re alive, Mark, and those that aren’t killed will have their minds burned out. Do you really want to be a part of that?”

  The human looked a little sick. “Uh … no, and I can promise you Starshine wouldn’t do it. No way, uh-uh.”

  Taj looked up from a glum contemplation of his knuckles. “He couldn’t be … persuaded?” Emphasis on the final word.

  “He’d be resisting the mind control all the way. You’d be forcing him to fight, and that would, like, really fuck the controller’s concentration.”

  Zabb shrugged. “Well, it was worth raising.”

  Tis stood and stared up into his face. “You’re really going to do this?”

  Zabb waved a hand at the holograph. Purple seemed to be the predominant color. “Do I have any choice?”

  Tis hung her head and walked for the door, paused at the threshold. “Zabb.” He looked up inquiringly. “Be careful.”

  The irony was not lost on him. Zabb grinned a
t her. “Who could have predicted we’d come to this? A month ago you would have been painting a target on the back of my head.”

  Bat’tam was rattling the Ilkala defense center with snores of major proportions. Mark had relieved him and was monitoring the HoloNet, ready to sound the alarm if Zabb’s assault force should be defeated. Tisianne knew she should be sleeping, but rest eluded her. Desperate to keep her mind from dwelling on the battle in orbit above them, she was busy embroidering Illyana’s presentation gown.

  “He can sure saw,” Mark whispered.

  Tis sighed, tossed aside the tiny silk gown, and stepped around the screen she’d set up to keep the light from the row of cots. Bat’tam was flat on his back, arms flung wide, fingertips dragging the floor. Gently Tis tugged at his shoulder until he rolled onto his side. The eruptions ceased. “Better?”

  “Heaps.” Mark scrubbed at his face with both palms. “Wish we’d hear something. This silence is creepy. Zabb could have let us eavesdrop on House command radio chatter.”

  Tis shook her head. “Zabb loves to be mysterious.”

  She selected another jewel from the bowls set on her worktable, stitched it into its place in the intricate abstract pattern that was her crest. Hesitated, then asked, “Do you think she’ll ever wear it?”

  Mark studied the filmy creation hanging like a cobweb in her hands. “You gotta keep positive, man.”

  “There haven’t been any sudden arrivals for almost a day now, which could mean any number of things—that Jay and Hastet are safe, or captured … or dead. And if Illyana is dead, I doubt her ancestors will accept her, poor mongrel baby that she is,” Tis concluded softly.

  “She’s not dead. Hey, what is going to be her Takisian name? Illyana sek Kelly? Or Illyana sek Tisianne?”

  “I’m her mother and also her great-grandfather … which makes my head hurt to contemplate it. How much worse for the child? And how do I explain it once she’s reached a reasonable age?” Tis shook her head. “Will she hate us all, or turn that hate into self-loathing?”