Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “How did you all intend to get out of here had the plan gone as planned?” Hastet asked.

  “Take out the defense center. Call in our ships.” Tis slipped the nipple into Illyana’s tiny mouth. Despite the graveness of their situation, she couldn’t help smiling. The baby’s eyes snapped open. There was a very wise expression in those beautiful aquamarine eyes.

  “Why can’t you do that anyway?” Kelly asked.

  “The defensive equipment is designed to detect genetic markers that are unique to enemy ships. They’ll be destroyed on entry.”

  Kelly paced, nervously plaiting a small strand of red hair. “What about captured ships? What do they do to them?”

  “Rebreak them and implant an artificial gene marker.”

  “So they read like a Vayawand ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “So let’s call Baby.” For a stunned moment all they could do was stare. Kelly shifted self-consciously. “I can’t do it alone, but you can coach me, and when she hears you, Doctor, she’ll come running.”

  “Can you override her retraining?” Bat’tam asked.

  Tis removed the bottle to push back a hanging strand of hair. Illyana registered disapproval with a sharp yelp. “We can but try,” Tis said, and shoved the bottle back into her demanding daughter’s mouth.

  It hurt so bad. He had looked back once, realized his leg ended in a charred and ragged stump two inches above the knee. He crawled across the blood-slick floor in search of the missing limb. Maybe if he found it, they could sew it back on. He realized he was delirious. Then he realized he was dying. He wanted to find her before the end. To see if he’d done well. Durg began dragging himself up the stairs. The smell of blood and cooked flesh lay in his throat and threatened to choke him. He laid his head down on the edge of a step. He’d rest just for a minute.

  The rattle of boot heels. Durg heaved himself up with a snarl, braced on his knuckles. He stared into the barrel of a rifle.

  “No!” Her voice.

  Men ran past, thundering down the stairs.

  Another voice sang out, “Defense center secured, sir.” Then he added, in a little boy’s voice, “They’re all dead.”

  Hands soft and gentle on his face. Durg’s arms were trembling with strain. Moonchild caught him as he collapsed. Blood from the wounds in his back smeared across her jumpsuit.

  The perfume of her hair almost blotted the scent of death. “I turned … for you … I turned.”

  “I know. Hush, now.” Tears clogged her voice.

  “No one … weeps for a … Morakh.” He looked up into that beautiful face. “Grant me … your forgiveness.”

  Moonchild nodded, bent, and softly kissed his lips.

  How something as big and inflexible as a Takisian ship could wriggle with delight was a mystery to Jay, but Baby was managing. Light flared and coruscated across the whorls and folds of her outer skin. The lavender and amber running lights mounted on the spines of her back were bright enough to throw shadows.

  “Go,” Tisianne was saying. “Baby has her orders. She will carry all of you to the neutral station.” Tisianne tenderly kissed the top of her child’s head and laid Illyana in Hastet’s arms. “Let her never forget I loved her.”

  “What about you?” Jay asked.

  “I must find Blaise.”

  “I’m going with you,” Kelly piped up.

  Bat’tam cleared his throat. “I have a rather tenuous claim to the heirship of House Vayawand. This seems like a good time to present it. So carry on without me.”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but inside that masonry pile people are shooting at each other,” Jay said. “I don’t think it’s a real good time to launch a political campaign.” Bat’tam just shrugged apologetically. “Why do you all want to be a bunch of heroes?” Jay concluded on a whine.

  “Injured as you are, there is nothing you can do, Jay. Go!” Tis ordered.

  Jay hesitated for an instant longer, then Hastet grabbed his arm and dragged him up the ramp. The lock cycled shut and the ship shot skyward.

  Jay tottered onto a bench. “Aw, hell,” he burst out suddenly. “They’re all gonna get killed, and we’ll get stuck with the kid.”

  There was an air of arrogant insouciance to the wide-open door that rather appealed to Zabb. However insane he might be, Blaise possessed virtu to an extraordinary degree. Singlehandedly he had warped the face of Takisian society. Tisianne believed forever; Zabb was hopeful such was not the case.

  Then it struck Zabb: the door was an enticement, a spider’s lure, and the trap set for Tisianne. Well, he’s in for a surprise, he thought with satisfaction. Zabb had been surprised at the ease with which he deflected Tis from her pursuit of Blaise, but biology had worked to Zabb’s advantage. The lure of Illyana was too great. And realistically Tis couldn’t stand against Blaise. Zabb believed he could.

  Nothing could quell Zabb’s hatred of the man who waited beyond that threshold. Twice Zabb had held his cousin as she slept her unquiet sleep, and read in her dreams the horrors that Blaise had visited upon her. Now the monster was going to pay.

  Zabb stepped through the door.

  Blaise turned, and the dark purple eyes widened briefly in surprise. He lunged for the archaic Earth weapon that rested on the desk. Zabb lashed out with his mentatic power—felt it strike, hold briefly, then slip, under the onslaught of Blaise’s own mental strength. It had been enough to get Zabb across the room, his hand gripping Blaise’s wrist. Killing Blaise would have been easy. Capturing him another matter. Blaise was battering not only at Zabb’s body, but at his mind. The Takisian had no strength for a counterattack; every bit of his mentatic power was given over to defense.

  Blaise’s breath puffed hot in Zabb’s face. Their minds were knotted, everything that either one had ever done or known was shared. Tisianne lay between them. Memories of love and memories of rape coiled and shattered against each other.

  Blaise’s lips skinned back in a grimacing smile. “Didn’t I teach her great for you?” he whispered.

  Rage exploded in Zabb, and for an instant his concentration broke. Blaise was in his mind. Desperately Zabb threw up a death lock and forced the abomination back out. Blaise would have to kill him to pierce these shields, and the fight on the physical plane was going to end far earlier than their mentatic duel.

  Grimly, the silence punctuated only by their harsh gasps, they fought for control of the gun.

  An eerie silence had settled across the House.

  Kelly and Tis had tried Blaise’s private quarters and found only the naked body of a murdered La’b sprawled in the blood-soaked bed. The long, curly red wig askew over her eyes left both of them a little queasy.

  Their footsteps rang off the marble walls. Almost to the door, and they heard the boom of a gun being fired and wood splintering. A yell of pain. Tis grabbed the jamb for support and spun around the corner and through the door.

  Blaise and Zabb were locked in a bizarre waltz of death, grappling between them a .44 Magnum. Blood was pouring from an ugly, ragged hole in Zabb’s thigh. If the round had struck bone, it would have shattered it. That he was still on his feet was a testament either to his reflexes or to Blaise’s lack of marksmanship.

  Back and forth they staggered, the barrel of the gun angling first one direction, then the other. Tis was bringing up her rifle when, with a grunt of effort, Zabb bent Blaise’s wrist almost backward and squeezed. With an earsplitting explosion of sound, blood and brains exploded out the back of Blaise’s skull. In his forehead gaped a round black hole.

  Kelly’s shrill screams ripped through air still echoing with the aftermath of the gun’s blast. Zabb dropped Blaise’s body. Tis fell on it in a bizarre parody of grief. Gripping the corpse by the shoulders, she shook it, beating the shattered head on the floor.

  “No! You can’t die! You can’t die! You can’t die!” Kelly knelt at her side, gathered the weeping Takisian into his arms. His tears were hot against her neck. Tis stared up at Zabb with a
Medusa’s face. “You betrayed me,” she said softly, but each word was edged with ground glass.

  “I had no choice.”

  There was a telepathic call like a clarion bell. Council summons. All their minds were filled with an offer to negotiate with the Ajayiz of House Vayawand.

  Chapter Forty-three

  “WELL, I DON’T GET to be Raiyis of House Vayawand,” Bat’tam said brightly.

  “Did you want to be?” Tisianne asked, with very little interest in the answer.

  Illyana was a warm presence in her arms, and Tis wanted to be alone with her child to see if a baby’s primal and uncomplicated love would be enough to restore her to emotional life.

  It was that cold gray hour before dawn, and Tis was exhausted. Unfortunately she couldn’t sleep. Her mind would not let down, wouldn’t stop replaying the events of the night, analyzing, rearranging, indulging in agonizing “if onlys,” and “what ifs.”

  Then there were the ships. Even to as feeble a telepath as Tisianne, the mentatic plane was a scene of telepathic cacophony, for the ships of the Ilkazam were singing the victory. The seniors had left the ship farm and were gathered like giant butterflies in the air above House Ilkazam. There was only one minor note in all this giddy celebration—Baby, reading the misery from the minds of Kelly and Tisianne, and singing their grief.

  “No, not really,” Bat’tam continued. “But you must admit it was a wonderful ploy. Any other claimant was too busy fighting. By pressing a claim at such an absurd moment I gave the council a chance to free themselves of Blaise without actually surrendering to the Ilkazam. Of course, effectively we’ve become a cadet house to Ilkazam, but face was saved all around.”

  “It was very well done of you.”

  “I’m sorry about how things turned out for you—”

  “Yes, me too.” Tis rose and walked to the door of her suite. Bat’tam got the hint.

  “After you’ve rested, we’ll try to sort out your situation.”

  “I’d say you’re the one with the larger problem. My mind is in one place, my body in another. Maybe a triad is the only solution.”

  “I think we’d shock Kelly.”

  The door closed behind him, and Tis sagged against the carved wood surface. Her guts were jumping, and laying Illyana gently in her crib, Tis bolted for the bathroom and vomited up her stomach’s meager contents. A knock brought her head up from the toilet. She rinsed and wiped her mouth, listened while the guard answered the door. It was Mark. With a sigh she walked back into the sitting room.

  “You got a minute?” the human asked.

  She made a strange sound: half laugh, part moan. “All the time in the world.” She laughed again. “I’m not going back to being me anytime soon.”

  Concerned, he cupped the back of her head in one bony hand. “Are you cool?”

  “Yes, absolutely. But you, I think, are not.”

  Mark walked ponderously over to a sofa, slumped on the edge, his hands clasped between his knees. “Durg’s dead. He turned…” Trips tapped his chest. “For me. Wonder what that does to a Morakh?”

  “Well, I’m sure his psychic pain was brief. He died quickly.” It came out far more acid than she’d intended.

  Mark looked miserably up at her. “This whole thing is my fault. I abandoned Durg, and he hooked up with Blaise. Blaise would never have thought to come here if it hadn’t been for Durg. Now Blaise is dead, and Durg is dead, and you’re trapped, and—”

  The pressure of her fingers digging deep into his shoulders drew a faint cry from Mark. “Don’t be stupid. I’m too tired to deal with stupid. I’ve spent almost fifty years wallowing in guilt. Didn’t accomplish a damn thing. I’m in this situation because I misread, misjudged, and mishandled Blaise. You had nothing to do with that. As for Durg … yes, you did abandon him, but not maliciously, not deliberately. If there was a sin, it was one of ignorance.” She released him, combed back her hair in a desperate gesture of anger and confusion. “I don’t know what I’m saying, if any of this makes any sense. I guess the point is, don’t waste time on guilt. You want my forgiveness? You’ve got it. You don’t need it, but you’ve got it.”

  Mark stood, wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need me laying my trip on you.”

  “I love you, Mark, but for the Ideal’s sake go away.”

  He kissed the top of her head and went. Tis summoned Gena and took a bath. For a long time she just floated in the hot, hot water, then paddled over and allowed the maid to soap her hair, and her body. The plump fingers were just unknotting the kink in her neck when there was another hectic rapping on her door.

  “Abortion!” She submerged, rinsed suds from her hair, and surfaced to shake water like a hunting dog. Gena dried her, and Tis shrugged into a nightgown and robe, and went to greet her latest caller.

  It was Kelly, running in like a terrified child to bury his head in Tis’s lap. She stroked the disordered curls.

  “We had to secure Vayawand. They wanted me there. Acted like I was you.” Kelly sounded desperate.

  “I suppose to all intents and purposes you are.” Tis rang for Gena. “Would you like a cup of ysan, Prince Tisianne?”

  “Don’t! You’ve got to think of something!”

  “I’m afraid I’m quite out of ideas.” But Kelly’s touching faith in her had unblocked her mind. However much she might resent it, she was thinking again. After a long moment she said slowly, “Blaise wasn’t the only jumper in the universe.”

  “We go home? Try to find one?” Kelly asked eagerly.

  Tis smiled ruefully. “It’s not much of a something.”

  “I think it’s terrific. Let’s leave now.”

  The guard was in the door to the bedroom. “Princess Mon’aella sek Vanbrian sek Ana.”

  “Oh, lord,” moaned Kelly.

  “Ancestors,” Tis swore.

  “Your wife,” Mon’aella corrected as she swept past the guard and shut the door. She absorbed the situation: Kelly seated on the floor at Tisianne’s feet, head on her knee, her hand tangled in his hair. “If you weren’t both my husbands, I could find it in myself to be quite suspicious.” She extended a hand to Tisianne. “We haven’t met. I’m Mon’aella, your bride.”

  Tis rose, bowed over her hand. “Charmed.” Their eyes met, and Mon’aella went strolling through Tisianne’s mind. “A little presumptuous on our first meeting, wouldn’t you say?” Tis said lightly.

  “I wanted to find out what kind of a man you are.”

  Tis swept a hand down her slim form. “A pretty poor one right now.”

  “Well, you are an interesting read, and I suppose I could love you for your mind, but overall I think I prefer the bogus one with some meat between his legs.” Mon’aella looked at Kelly. “Come to my suite when you’re finished here. We have plans to make.”

  For several moments after her regal exit, Tis and Kelly just regarded the floor. Then Tis sighed and said, “I think I want a divorce.”

  Kelly, face burning with embarrassment, mumbled, “I’ve slept with her.”

  Tisianne patted him on the back. “That’s all right. Given my libido I suppose it was unavoidable.”

  “Can I stay here? I don’t want to be with her tonight.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Take the bed.”

  Kelly paused, in the act of shrugging out of his coat. “You’re not going to bed?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “It is later.”

  “Maybe tonight.” Tis lifted Illyana out of her crib and started out of the room. Then looked back and forced out the words. “Have you seen Zabb?”

  “Not really. He got real scarce after you all left for Ilkazam.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  There was obviously a lot of emotional bleed from Tisianne’s poorly shielded mind, because Kelly coughed slightly and asked, “Would you stay here, as me, for him?”

  “No, child. I love him, but that choice has been made. Go to sleep.” And Tis turned off
the light and went back into the sitting room.

  It was self-indulgent, but Tisianne had injected herself with a lactating agent, and her breasts were again filled with milk. Sighing, she unlaced the neck of her peignoir and gown and laid Illyana’s head against her chest. Laughed softly as the baby girl started sucking even before she found the nipple. There was again that jolt of pain and pleasure as the infant began to nurse.

  She had almost dozed off. What yanked her awake was the sense of sharp and hostile scrutiny. Her eyes snapped open. Zabb was standing in the center of the room. The fear faded, replaced by anger.

  “It is customary to be announced.”

  “I told your guard we could dispense with that … now that you’re mine.”

  “You never had any intention of preserving Blaise,” Tis said bitterly.

  “Did I tell you I would?”

  “You gave me your word.”

  A shrug. “You’re worth more than—”

  “Your honor?” Tis supplied for him. “I find that very hard to believe. You were never sentimental, cousin, and I am no longer an essential piece in your schemes. You have won the day. Find another bride—may I suggest Mon’aella—because I am returning to Earth. There were other jumpers besides Blaise.”

  “No, no, and no.”

  Illyana finished, yawned, waved her tiny fists in the air. Zabb’s eyes were on Tis’s exposed breast, and it made her skin crawl. She quickly tugged the gown back into place, then placed Illyana over her shoulder and briskly burped her.

  “She sounds satisfied.” There was no response to that. Tis continued to pat her child, watching Zabb. He walked an aimless spiral, drawing ever closer to her. “I’ve always wondered.” His hand shot out and twitched aside her robe. The skin of his palm was burning hot against her breast. “What it tastes like?” He squeezed down hard.

  It was as if his eyes had become glass, and what she saw beyond those gray windows was crawling horror. Tisianne was trapped by the arms of the chair, and the weight of the now-sleeping infant. Reacting more by instinct, she brought up her knee and nailed Blaise in the crotch. He gagged, hunched, and she bolted for her life. Terror closed her throat, sucked air from her lips. Footsteps thudded behind her. She reached the desk, yanked open a drawer. He was almost on her. Whirled and leveled the laser on the center of his chest. He skittered to a stop. That mad, feral smile curved the stolen lips.