Wild Cards IV

by George R. R. Martin

  “In what way?” But Jack could tell from the little alien’s cautious tone that he’d struck a nerve.

  “Instead of just giving you Andrieux’s address, Bonnell insists on setting up a meeting. They tried to split—”

  “Because you were there.”

  “Yeah, right. You mind control them, then you just happen to get attacked by a gang of Gypsy children. I’ve done a little checking around. They never do that kind of thing. I think somebody had this arranged ahead of time. To make certain you couldn’t use your mind control. And what about Andrieux? You said he was the clerk at the hotel. Then why did he deny any knowledge of Danelle? She was his mother-in-law, for Christ’s sake. This thing stinks to high heaven.”

  Tachyon flung the ice pack against the wall. “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “Don’t work with Bonnell anymore. Don’t go to any more meetings. Let me see what I can do with the bomb fragments. Rochambeau has agreed to work with Ray.”

  “That could take weeks. We leave in a few days.”

  “You are fucking obsessed with this!”

  “Yes!”

  “Why? Is it because you’re impotent? Is that the big deal here?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss this.”

  “I know you don’t, but you’ve got to! You’re not thinking this through, Tachyon. What it could do to the tour, to your reputation—to mine for that matter. We’re withholding vital evidence pertaining to a murder.”

  “You didn’t have to become involved.”

  “I know that, and sometimes I wish to Christ I hadn’t. But I’m into it now, so I’ll see it through to the end. So are you going to sit tight and see what I can find?”

  “Yes, I’ll wait to see what you find out.”

  Jack shot him a suspicious glance. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”

  “Oh, Jack.” The big ace paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back. “I apologize for this afternoon. It was wrong of me to send you away.”

  It was obvious from the Takisian’s expression what this was costing him. “Okay,” Jack replied gruffly.

  It was an old house, a very old house, in the university district. Cracks cut the dingy plaster walls, and the musty odor of mold hung in the air. Bonnell gave Tachyon’s arm a hard squeeze.

  “Remember not to expect too much. This child doesn’t know you.”

  Tachyon barely heard him, certainly paid no attention. He was already heading up the stairs.

  There were five people in the room, but Tachyon saw only the boy. Perched on a stool, he was swinging one foot, slamming his heel rhythmically into a battered wooden leg. His fine straight hair lacked the metallic copper fire of his grandsire’s, but it was nonetheless a deep rich red. Tach felt a surge of pride at this evidence of his prepotence. Straight red brows gave Blaise an overly serious expression that set oddly on the narrow child’s face. His eyes were a brilliant purple-black.

  Standing behind, a hand possessively on his son’s shoulder, was Andrieux. Tachyon studied him with the critical eye of a Takisian psi lord evaluating breeding stock. Not bad, human of course, but not bad. Definitely handsome, and he appeared intelligent. Still it was hard to tell. If only he could run tests.… He tried to close his mind to the unwelcome suspicion that this man had been instrumental in Dani’s death.

  He looked back to Blaise and found the boy studying him with equal interest. There was nothing shy about the gaze. Suddenly Tach’s shields repelled a powerful mind assault.

  “Trying to pay me back for yesterday?”

  “Mais oui. You took my mind.”

  “You take people’s minds.”

  “Of course. No one can stop me.”

  “I can.” The brows snapped together in a thunderous frown. “I’m Tachyon. I’m your grandfather.”

  “You don’t look like a grandfather.”

  “My kind live a very long time.”

  “Will I?”

  “Longer than a human.” The boy seemed pleased with this oblique reference to his alienness.

  As they talked, Tach made a preliminary probe of his abilities. An unbelievable mind control aptitude for one so young. And all self-taught, that was the truly amazing thing. With proper instruction he would be a force to be reckoned with. No teke, no precog, and worst of all almost no telepathy. He was virtually mind blind.

  That’s what comes of unrestricted and unplanned breeding.

  “Doctor,” said Claude. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “First I would like to give Blaise a hug.” He looked inquiringly at the boy, who made a face.

  “I don’t like hugs and kisses.”

  “Why not?”

  “It makes me feel like ants are on me.”

  “A common mentat reaction. You will not feel that way with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am your kin and kind. I understand you better than anyone else in the world can ever understand you.” François Andrieux shifted angrily.

  “Well, I’ll try it,” said Blaise decisively, and slid off his stool. Again Tachyon was pleased with his assurance.

  As his arms closed about his grandson’s small form, tears rushed into his eyes.

  “You’re crying,” Blaise accused.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am so very happy to have found you. To know that you exist in the world.”

  Bonnell cleared his throat, a discreet little sound. “As loath as I am to interrupt this, I’m really afraid I must, Doctor.” Tachyon stiffened warily. “We have to talk a little business.”

  “Business?” The word was dangerously low.

  “Yes. I’ve given you what you want.” He indicated Blaise with a flip of a tiny hand. “Now you have to give me what I want. François, take him.”

  Father and son left. Tachyon speculatively studied the remaining men.

  “Please don’t consider a mind-assisted escape. There are more of us waiting outside this room. And my companions are armed.”

  “I somehow assumed they would be.” Tach settled onto a sagging sofa. It sent up a puff of dust under his weight. “So, you are a member of this little gang of galloping terrorists.”

  “No, sir, I lead it.”

  “Umm, and you had Dani killed.”

  “No. That was an act of blatant stupidity for which François has been … chastised. I disapprove of subordinates acting on their own initiative. They so often screw up. Don’t you agree?”

  Tachyon’s late cousin Rabdan came instantly to mind, and he found himself nodding. Pulled himself up short. There was something very outré about this chatty little conversation, faced as he was with the man who had attempted to kill hundreds at Versailles.

  “Oh, dear, and I had so hoped that Andrieux was bright,” mused Tachyon, then he asked, “Is this a kidnapping for ransom?”

  “Oh, no, Doctor, you’re quite beyond price.”

  “So I’ve always thought.”

  “No, I need your help. In two days there will be a great debate between all the presidential candidates. We intend to kill as many of them as we can.”

  “Even your own candidate?”

  “In a revolution sometimes sacrifice is necessary. But for your information, I have little loyalty to the Communist Party. They have betrayed the people, lost the will and the strength to make the difficult decisions. The mandate has passed to us.”

  Tach rested his forehead on a hand. “Oh, please, don’t blurt slogans at me. It’s one of the most tiresome things about you people.”

  “May I outline my plan?”

  “I don’t see any way I can prevent you.”

  “The security will undoubtedly be very tight.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Bonnell shot him a sharp glance at the irony. Tachyon gazed innocently back.

  “Rather than attempt to run this gauntlet with weapons of our own, we will use those already provided. You and Blaise will mind control as many guards as possible and have them rak
e the platform with automatic weapons fire. It should have the desired result.”

  “Interesting, but what can you possibly gain by this?”

  “The destruction of France’s ruling elite will throw the country into chaos. When that occurs, I won’t need your esoteric powers. Guns and bombs will suffice. Sometimes the simplest things are often the best.”

  “What a philosopher you are. Perhaps you should set yourself up as a guide to the young.”

  “I already have. I’m Blaise’s beloved Uncle Claude.”

  “Well, this has of course been instructional, but I very much regret that I must refuse.”

  “Not surprising. I had anticipated this. But consider, Doctor, I hold your grandson.”

  “You won’t harm him, he’s too precious to you.”

  “True. But my threat is not of death. If you refuse to accommodate me in this, I will be forced to have certain very unpleasant things done to you, being careful to ensure that you live. I will then disappear with Blaise. You might find it somewhat difficult to trace us when you are a bedridden cripple.”

  He smiled in satisfaction at the look of horror on Tachyon’s face. “Jean will escort you to your room now. There you can reflect upon my offer and, I’m certain, see your way clear to help me.”

  “I doubt it,” gritted Tachyon, regaining command of his voice, but it was hollow bravado, and Bonnell undoubtedly knew it.

  The “room” turned out to be the very cold and dank basement of the house. Hours later Blaise arrived with his dinner.

  “I have come to visit with you,” he announced, and Tach sighed, again admiring and regretting Bonnell’s cunning. The joker had obviously made a careful study of Tachyon, his attitudes and culture.

  He ate while Blaise, chin resting in his cupped hands, gazed thoughtfully at him.

  Tach set aside his fork. “You are very silent. I thought we were going to visit.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you. It’s very strange.”

  “What is?”

  “Finding out about you. Now I’m not so special anymore, which bothers me, but it’s also good to know…” He considered.

  “That you’re not alone,” suggested Tach gently.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Why do you help them?”

  “Because they are right. The old institutions must fall.”

  “But people have died.”

  “Yes,” he agreed sunnily.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Oh, no. They were bourgeois capitalist pigs and deserved to die. Sometimes killing is the only way.”

  “A very Takisian attitude.”

  “You will help us, won’t you? It will be fun.”

  “Fun!”

  It’s his upbringing, Tach consoled himself. Endow any child with this kind of unsupervised power and they would react the same.

  They talked. Tachyon pieced together a picture of unfettered freedom, virtually no formal schooling, the excitement of playing hide-and-seek with the authorities. More chilling was the realization that Blaise did not withdraw from his victims when they died. Rather he rode through the terror and pain of their final moment.

  There will be time to correct this, he promised himself.

  “So will you help?” Blaise asked, hopping down from the chair. “Uncle Claude said to be sure and ask you.”

  Seconds stretched into minutes as he considered. The noble course would be to tell Bonnell to go to hell. He considered Bonnell’s gently worded threats and shuddered. He had been bred and trained to seize the opportunity, to turn defeat into victory. He would trust to that. Surely they could not guard him as closely at the rally.

  “Tell Claude that I will help.”

  An exuberant hug.

  Alone, Tachyon continued to reflect. He did have one other advantage. Jack … who would surely realize something had gone terribly wrong and alert the Sûreté. But his hope was founded on a man whose weakness was well known to him, and his fears on a man who, despite his civilized exterior, possessed no humanity.

  Coming up on twenty-four hours since the little bastard had disappeared. Jack swung at the wall, pulled the punch just in time. Knocking out a wall at the Ritz wasn’t going to help.

  Was Tachyon in trouble?

  Despite his promise, had he gone off with Bonnell? And did that necessarily mean trouble? Was it possible he was merely playing hooky with his grandkid?

  If he was out visiting the zoo or whatever and Jack alerted the Sûreté, and they found out about Blaise, Tachyon would never forgive him. It would be another betrayal. Maybe his last one. The Takisian would find a way to get even this time.

  But if he’s really in trouble?

  A knock pulled him from his distracted thoughts. One of Hartmann’s interchangeable aides stood in the hall.

  “Mr. Braun, the senator would like to invite you to join him at the debate tomorrow.”

  “Debate? What debate?”

  “All one thousand and eleven”—a condescending little laugh—“or however many candidates there are in this crazy race, will be taking part in a round-robin debate in the Luxembourg Gardens. The senator would like as many of the tour as possible to be there. To show support for this great European democracy—such as it is. Mr. Braun … are you all right?”

  “Fine, yeah, I’m fine. You tell the senator I’ll be there.”

  “And Doctor Tachyon? The senator’s very concerned by his continued absence.”

  “I think I can safely promise the senator that the doctor will be there too.”

  Closing the door, Jack quickly crossed to the phone and put in a call for Rochambeau. A probable terrorist attack on the candidates. No need to mention the child. Just an urgent need to call out the troops.

  And a long night of praying he had guessed correctly. That he had made the right choice.

  He should have been sleeping, preparing mind and body for the morrow. His life and the future of his line depended upon his skill and speed and cunning.

  And on Jack Braun. Ironic that.

  If Jack had drawn the correct conclusion. If he had alerted the Sûreté. If there were sufficient officers. If Tachyon could stretch his talent beyond all limits and hold an unheard of number of minds.

  He sat up on the rickety cot and hugged his stomach. Sank back and tried to relax. But it was a night for memories. Faces out of the past. Blythe, David, Earl, Dani.

  I’m gambling my life and the life of my grandchild on the man who destroyed Blythe. Lovely.

  But the possibility of dying can act as a spur for self-examination. Force a person to strip away the comforting, insulating little lies that buffer one from their most private guilts and regrets.

  “Then give me those names!”

  “All right … all right.”

  The power—lancing out—fragmenting her mind … her mind … her mind.

  But they wouldn’t have known but for Jack. And she wouldn’t have absorbed their minds but for Holmes, and she wouldn’t have been there but for the paranoia of a nation. And no one would suffer had they not been born, thought Tach, quoting a favorite adage of his father’s. Sometime one must stop excusing, accept responsibility for actions taken.

  Tisianne brant Ts’ara, Jack Braun didn’t destroy Blythe, you did.

  He flinched, prepared for it to hurt. Instead he felt better. Lighter, freer, at peace for the first time in so many, many years. He began to laugh, was not surprised when it turned to quiet tears.

  They lasted for some time. When the storm ended, he lay back, exhausted but calm. Ready for tomorrow. After which he would return home and make a home and raise his child. Calmly and a little regretfully he turned his back on the past.

  He was Tisianne brant Ts’ara sek Halima sek Ragnar sek Omian, a prince of the House Ilkazam, and tomorrow his enemies would learn to their pain and regret what it meant to stand against him.

  Claude, Blaise, and a driver remained in a car almost a block from the gardens. Tachyo
n, linked through the barrel of a Beretta with a stone-faced Andrieux, hovered at the outskirts of an enormous crowd. Parisians were nothing if not enthusiastic about their politics. But spotted throughout this sea of humanity like an insidious infection were the other fifteen members of Bonnell’s cell. Waiting. For blood to flow and nurture their violent dreams.

  On the stand, the candidates—all seven of them. About half the delegation seated in chairs directly in front of the bunting-hung platform. There was no way they would escape without injury if Tach should fail and the shooting begin. Jack came into view. Hands thrust deep into pants pockets, he paced and frowned out over the throng.

  Blaise was a rider in Tachyon’s mind. Ready to sense the tiniest use of telepathy. His power might be slight, but he was sensitive enough to detect the shift in focus such mind communication required. His presence suited his grandsire just fine. It would make what was to come all the easier.

  Carefully Tachyon constructed a mind-scrim of the scene. A false picture to lull his grandchild. He hedged it around with shields, presented it to Blaise. Then from beneath its protective cover he reached out, touched Jack’s mind.

  Don’t jump, keep frowning.

  Where are you?

  Near gate, edge of trees.

  Got it.

  Sûreté?

  Everywhere. Terrorists?

  Likewise everywhere.

  How…!?

  They’ll come to you.

  Wha…???

  Trust.

  He withdrew and carefully constructed a trap. It was similar to the link he enjoyed with Baby when the ship boosted and amplified his own natural powers to allow for transspace communication, but much, much stronger. Its teeth were very deep. What might it do to Blaise? No. There was no time for doubts.

  The mind snare snapped down. A mental scream of alarm from the boy. Desperate struggle, panting resignation. The rider had become the ridden.

  Tachyon joined Blaise’s power to his. It was like a bar of white-hot light. Carefully he split it into strands. Each tendril snapped out like a burning whip. Settled on his captors. They became frozen statues.

  He was gasping with effort, sweat bursting from his forehead, running in rivulets into his eyes. He set them marching, a regiment of zombies. As Andrieux stepped from his side, Tachyon forced his hand to move, to close about the Beretta, to pull it from his slave’s limp grasp.