Wild Cards: Aces Abroad

by George R. R. Martin

  “What do you mean,” she asked, a chill seizing her.

  “I hate jokers,” McCoy burst out. “They give me the creeps!” His knuckles were white on the beer bottle. “Look, I can’t go on with this. I’ll call New York and tell them to send you another cameraman. I’ll get my gear out of your room.”

  “You’re leaving?” Peregrine asked, stunned.

  “Yeah. Look, it’s been a lot of fun,” he said deliberately, “and I’ve really enjoyed you. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend my life raising some pimp’s bastard! Especially,” he added as an after-thought, “one that’s going to develop into some kind of monster!”

  Peregrine winced as if she’d been slapped. “I thought you loved me,” she said, her voice and wings quivering. “You just asked me to marry you!”

  “I guess I was wrong.” He finished his beer and stood up. “Bye, Peri.”

  Peregrine couldn’t face him as he left. She stared down at the table, cold and shaken, and didn’t notice the intense, lingering look McCoy gave her as he left the bar.

  “Ahem.”

  Hiram Worchester seated himself across from her in the chair McCoy had just vacated. Peregrine shuddered. It’s true, he’s gone, she thought. I will never, never, she told herself fiercely, get involved with another man. Never!

  “Where’s McCoy? Father Squid and I want to know if the two of you will join us for dinner. Of course,” he added when she didn’t respond, “if you have other plans . . .”

  “No,” she said dully, “no other plans. It will be just me, I’m afraid. Josh is, ahhh, out filming some local color.” She wondered why she lied to one of her oldest friends.

  “Of course.” Hiram beamed. “Let’s get Father Squid and retire to the dining room. Using my power always makes me hungry.” He stood and pulled out her chair.

  Dinner was excellent, but she hardly tasted it. Hiram wolfed down huge portions and waxed poetical about the batarikh—Egyptian caviar—and lamb shish kebab served with a wine called rubis d’Égypte. He loudly urged Tachyon to try some when he joined them, but Tachyon declined with a shake of his head.

  “Are you ready for the meeting?” he asked Peregrine. “Where’s McCoy?”

  “Out filming,” answered Hiram. “I suggest we go without him.”

  Peregrine murmured her agreement.

  “He wasn’t invited anyway,” Tachyon sniped.

  Dr. Tachyon, Hiram Worchester, Father Squid, and Peregrine met with Opet Kemel in a small antechamber off the amphitheater that had been so severely damaged in the terrorist attack earlier that day.

  “There must be Nur spies among us,” Kemel exclaimed, glancing around the room. “That is the only way those dogs could have gotten through security. Or else they bribed one of my people. We are trying to ferret out the traitor now. The three assassins killed themselves after they were captured,” Kemel said, the hatred in his voice making Peregrine doubt the strict truth of his words. “They are now shahid, martyrs for Allah at the instigation of that madman, Nur al-Allah, may he die a most painful and lingering death.” Kemel turned to Tachyon. “You see, Doctor, that is why we need your assistance to protect ourselves. . . .”

  His voice dragged on and on. Occasionally Peregrine heard Hiram or Father Squid or Tachyon chime in, but she wasn’t really listening. She knew the expression on her face was polite and inquisitive. It was the face she wore when she had boring guests on her show who blathered on and on about nothing. She wondered how Letterman was doing with Peregrine’s Perch. Probably fine. Her mind refused to stay on unimportant topics and wandered back to Josh McCoy. What could she have done to make him stay? Nothing. Perhaps it was better that he left if that was his real atti­tude toward those stricken with the wild card. She thought back to Argentina, their first night together. She had summoned up her courage, put on her sexiest dress, and gone to his room with a bot­tle of champagne. McCoy had been occupied with a woman he’d picked up in the hotel bar. Peregrine, extremely embarrassed, had slunk back to her room and begun drinking the champagne. Fif­teen minutes later McCoy had appeared. It had taken so long, he explained, because he had to get rid of the woman.

  Peregrine was impressed by his supreme confidence. He was the first man she’d been with since Fortunato, and his touch was wonderful. They’d spent every night since then together, making love at least once a day. Tonight she’d be alone. He hates you, she told herself, because you’re a joker. She placed her left hand across her abdomen. We don’t need him, Peregrine told the baby. We don’t need anyone.

  Tachyon’s voice broke through her reverie. “I’ll report this to Senator Hartmann, the Red Cross, and the UN. I’m sure we can assist you somehow.”

  “Thank you, thank you!” Kemel reached across the table to take Tachyon’s hands in gratitude. “Now,” he said, smiling at the others, “perhaps you would like to meet my children? They have expressed a desire to talk to you all, especially you.” He directed his pene­trating stare at Peregrine.

  “Me?”

  Kemel nodded and stood. “Come this way.”

  They passed between the long golden curtains that separated the antechamber from the auditorium, and Kemel led them to another room where the living gods were waiting for them.

  Min was there, and bearded Osiris, bird-headed Thoth, and the floating brother and sister, as were Anubis and Isis and a dozen oth­ers whose names Peregrine couldn’t remember. They immediately surrounded the Americans and Dr. Tachyon, everyone talking at once. Peregrine found herself face-to-face with a large woman who smiled and spoke to her in Arabic.

  “I’m sorry,” Peregrine said, smiling back. “I don’t understand.”

  The woman gestured to the bird-headed man standing close by, who immediately joined them.

  “I am Thoth,” he said in English, his beak giving him a strange clacking accent. “Taurt has asked me to tell you that the son you bear will be born strong and healthy.”

  Peregrine looked from one to the other, incredulity on her face. “How did you know I’m pregnant?” she demanded.

  “Ah, we have known since we heard you were coming to the temple.”

  “But this trip was decided upon months ago!”

  “Yes. Osiris is cursed by knowing pieces of the future. Your future, your child, was in one of those pieces.”

  Taurt said something and Thoth smiled. “She says not to worry. You will be a very good mother.”

  “I will?”

  Taurt handed her a small linen pouch with hieroglyphs embroidered on it. Peregrine opened it and found a small amulet made of red stone. She examined it curiously.

  “It is an achet,” Thoth clacked. “It represents the sun rising in the east. It will give you the strength and power of Ra the Great. It is for the child. Keep it until the boy is old enough to wear it.”

  “Thank you. I will.” She impulsively hugged Taurt, who returned the gesture and then disappeared into the crowded room.

  “Come now,” said Thoth, “the others wish to meet you.”

  As Peregrine and Thoth circulated among the gods, she was greeted with great affection by each.

  “Why are they acting like this?” she asked after a particularly bone-crushing embrace from Hapi, the bull.

  “They are happy for you,” Thoth told her. “The birth of a child is a wonderous thing. Especially to one with wings.”

  “I see,” she said, though she didn’t. She had the feeling that Thoth was holding something back, but the bird-headed man slipped back into the crowd before she could question him.

  Amid the greetings and extemporaneous speeches she suddenly realized that she was exhausted. Peregrine caught Tachyon’s eye where he stood conversing with Anubis. She pointed to her watch and Tachyon beckoned to her. As she joined them, she heard him ask Anubis about the threat of the Nur. Father Squid was close by, discussing theology with Osiris.

  “The gods will protect us,” replied Anubis, lifting his eyes upward. “And from what I understand, security ar
ound the temple has been strengthened.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” Peregrine apologized, addressing Tachyon, “but don’t we have that appointment early tomorrow morning?”

  “Burning sky, I’d almost forgotten. What time is it?” He lifted his eyebrows when he saw it was after one. “We’d best go. It will take us an hour to get back to Luxor, and you, young lady, need your sleep.”

  Peregrine entered her room at the Winter Palace Hotel with apprehension. McCoy’s things were gone. She sank into a large armchair, and the tears that had been threatening all night came. She cried until she had no more tears left and her head ached with the strain. Go to bed, she told herself. It’s been a long day. Someone tries to shoot you, you find out you’re pregnant, and the man you love leaves you. Next you’ll find out that NBC’s canceled Pere­grine’s Perch. At least you know your baby is going to be all right, she thought as she undressed. She turned off the light and slipped into the lonely double bed.

  But her brain woundn’t turn off. What if Taurt is wrong? What if the ultrasound reveals a deformity? I’ll have to have an abortion. I don’t want one, but I can’t bring another joker into the world. Abortion is against everything I was brought up to believe.

  But do you want to spend the rest of your life taking care of a monster? Can you take the life of a baby, even if it’s a joker?

  Back and forth she went, until she finally dropped off to sleep. Her last coherent thought was of Fortunato. What would he want, she wondered?

  She was awakened by Tachyon banging at her door.

  “Peregrine,” she foggily heard him call. “Are you there? It’s seven-thirty.”

  She rolled out of bed, wrapped herself in the sheet, and opened the locked door. Tachyon stood there, annoyance written all over his face.

  He glared at her. “Do you know what time it is? You were supposed to meet me downstairs a half hour ago.”

  “I know, I know. Yell at me while I get dressed.”

  She picked up her clothes and headed toward the bathroom. Tachyon closed the door behind him and eyed her sheet-clad body appreciatively.

  “What happened here?” he asked. “Where’s your paramour?”

  Peregrine poked her head around the bathroom door and spoke around her toothbrush. “Gone.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “No!” She glanced in the mirror as she quickly brushed her hair and frowned at her exhausted face and swollen, red eyes. You look like hell, she told herself. She pulled on her clothes, pushed her feet into a pair of sandals, grabbed her bag, and joined Tachyon, who was waiting by the door.

  “I’m sorry I overslept,” she apologized as they hurried through the lobby and to the waiting cab. “It took me forever to fall asleep.”

  Tachyon watched her intently as he helped her into the cab. They rode in silence, her mind full of the baby, McCoy, Fortunato, moth­erhood, her career. Suddenly she asked, “If the baby . . . if the test . . .” She took a deep breath and began again. “If the test shows that there is some abnormality, will they be able to do the abortion today?”

  Tachyon took her cold hands in his. “Yes.”

  Please, she prayed, please don’t let anything be wrong with my baby. Tachyon’s voice broke into her thoughts. “What?”

  “Peri, what happened with McCoy?”

  She stared out the window and withdrew her hand from Tachyon’s. “He’s gone,” she said dully, twisting her fingers together. “I guess he went back to New York.” She blinked away tears. “Everything seemed okay, I mean, about my being pregnant and Fortunato and all. But after he heard that if the baby lived, it would probably be a joker, well . . .” Her tears began again. Tachyon handed her his lace-trimmed silk handkerchief. Peregrine took it and wiped her eyes. “Well,” she said, continuing her story, “when Josh heard that, he decided he didn’t want to have anything to do with me or the baby. So he left.” She rolled Tachyon’s handkerchief into a small, damp ball.

  “You truly love him, don’t you?” Tachyon asked gently.

  Peregrine nodded and pushed away more tears.

  “If you have an abortion, will he come back?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” she flared. “If he can’t accept me the way I am, then I don’t want him.”

  Tachyon shook his head. “Poor Peri,” he said softly. “McCoy is a jackass.”

  It seemed like an eternity before the cab rolled up in front of the hospital. As Tachyon went to consult with the receptionist, Pere­grine leaned against the cool, white wall of the waiting room and shut her eyes. She tried to make her mind go blank, but she couldn’t stop thinking about McCoy. If he did come to you, you’d take him back, she accused herself. You know you would. He won’t, though, not with me carrying Fortunato’s child. She opened her eyes as someone touched her arm.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Tachyon asked.

  “Just tired.” She tried to smile.

  “Scared?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I’d never really thought about having chil­dren, but now that I’m pregnant, I want to have a baby more than anything.” Peregrine sighed and folded her arms protectively over her abdomen. “But I hope that the baby is all right.”

  “They’re paging the doctor who’ll perform the procedure,” Tachyon said. “I hope you’re thirsty. You have to drink several quarts of water.” He removed a pitcher and a glass from a tray held by the nurse standing beside him. “You can start now.”

  Peregrine began drinking. She’d finished six glasses before a short man in a white coat hurried up to them.

  “Dr. Tachyon?” he asked, grasping Tachyon’s hand. “I am Dr. Ali. It is a great pleasure to meet you and welcome you to my hos­pital.” He turned to Peregrine. “Is this the patient?”

  Tachyon performed the introductions.

  Dr. Ali rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get on with it,” he said, and they followed him to the OB-GYN section of the hospital.

  “You, young lady, into that room.” He pointed. “Remove all your clothing and put on the gown you’ll find there. Keep drinking water. When you’ve changed, come back here and we’ll perform the sonography.”

  When Peregrine rejoined Tachyon, now wearing a white coat over his silken finery, and Dr. Ali, she was told to lie on an exam­ining table. She followed their directions, clutching Taurt’s amulet in her hand. A nurse raised the robe up and rubbed a clear gel on Peregrine’s stomach.

  “Conductive jelly,” Tachyon explained. “It helps carry the sound waves.”

  The nurse began to move a small instrument that looked like a microphone over Peregrine’s belly.

  “The transducer,” said Tachyon as he and Ali studied the image on the video screen in front of them.

  “Well, what do you see?” Peregrine demanded.

  “A moment, Peri.”

  Tachyon and Ali conferred in low tones.

  “Can you print that?” Peregrine heard Tachyon ask. Dr. Ali gave the nurse instructions in Arabic, and very shortly a computer printout of the image appeared.

  “You can climb down now,” said Tachyon. “We’ve seen everything there is to see.”

  “Well?” Peregrine asked anxiously.

  “Everything looks fine . . . so far,” said Tachyon slowly. “The child appears to be developing normally.”

  “That’s wonderful!” She hugged him as he helped her down from the table.

  “If you intend to go through with this pregnancy, I insist on an ultrasound every four to five weeks to monitor the baby’s growth.”

  Peregrine nodded. “These sound waves won’t hurt the baby, will they?”

  “No,” said Tachyon. “The only thing that can injure the child already exists within it.”

  Peregrine looked at Tachyon. “I know you feel you have to keep telling me that, but the baby is going to be just fine, I know it.”

  “Peregrine, this is not a fairy tale! You are not going to live happily ever after!
This could ruin your life!”

  “Growing wings when I was thirteen could have ruined my life, but it didn’t. This isn’t going to either.”

  Tachyon sighed. “There is no reasoning with you. Go put your clothes on. It’s time we got back to Cairo.”

  Tachyon was waiting for her outside the dressing room.

  “Where’s Dr. Ali?” she asked, looking around. “I wanted to thank him.”

  “He had other patients to attend to.” Tachyon steered her down the corridor with his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get back . . .” his voice broke off. Coming down the hallway toward them was Josh McCoy. Peregrine was pleased to see that he looked as awful as she felt. He must not have gotten much sleep either. He stopped in front of them.

  “Peri,” he began, “I’ve been thinking—”

  “Good for you,” Peregrine said crisply. “Now if you will excuse us—”

  McCoy reached out and grabbed her upper arm. “No. I want to talk to you and I intend to do it now.” He pulled her away from Tachyon.

  She had to talk to him, she told herself. Maybe everything could be straightened out. She hoped.

  “It’s all right,” she said shakily to Tachyon. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Tachyon’s voice followed them. “McCoy. You are undoubtedly a fool. And I warn you, if you harm her—in any way—you will regret it for a very long time.”

  McCoy ignored him and continued to pull Peregrine down the hall, opening doors until he found an empty room. He dragged her in and slammed the door behind them. He let go of her arm and began pacing back and forth.

  Peregrine stood against the wall, rubbing her arm where the marks of his fingers were visible.

  McCoy stopped pacing and stared at her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “I think it’s going to bruise,” she said, inspecting her arm.

  “We can’t have that,” McCoy said mockingly. “Bruises on America’s sex symbol!”

  “That’s pretty rotten,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet.