Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “No!” The shout brought Tachyon fully awake.

  The water was a deep rose, and very cold. She gripped the edge of the tub and tried to stand. The Formica was icy cold, and slick with blood and water. Strain shivered through the muscles. With a gasp she fell back into the embrace of the water.

  Rolling heavily onto her knees, Tach began crawling for the steps of Finn’s sunken bath. Her hair trailed like seaweed behind her. It was an effort to keep her mouth and nose above water. First step. Second. Her head was on the top step, the tile clammy against her cheek. Hair wrapped like tentacles about her arms and throat. She was dimly aware of the water lapping at her buttocks. Mostly she was aware of numbness.

  Query/love/fear/love/query???

  Not the self-composed young woman who had come to her in death’s dream. Terrified child. My child. It was horribly uncomfortable lying on her stomach. Tach heaved herself up, crawled free of the grip of the water. She dragged down one of the towels and cinched a clumsy tourniquet about one wrist.

  The doorjamb served as a crutch. Tach climbed shakily to her feet, tottered for the phone. She passed a full-length mirror on that thousand-mile journey. The red-streaked body with the distended belly was a fearsome sight. Collapse on the bed. Dial Cody’s number. It seemed to ring for a long, long time.

  “This better be good.” Cody’s sharp tones were as welcome as a symphony to Tachyon.

  “Cody. I’m hurt, badly … badly. Help me.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Tachyon.”

  “On my way.”

  The phone gave back the flat nasal buzz of a disconnected line. Tach lay back in the bed and tried to stay conscious.

  “You know, this is only the second time I’ve seen you in seven months, and you’ve managed to wreck my mood both times.”

  A brief smile flickered across Tach’s lips. “Once by being a bastard, and once by being a Juliet.”

  “That remark is just as confusing as the pronouns that are applicable to you.”

  The curved suture needle darted like an eager fish back and forth across the gash. It was fascinating to watch the pale skin pulling closed over the moist red of the muscles and capillaries.

  “You sew better than anyone I know,” said Tachyon.

  Cody smiled up at her. “Cut pretty well too.”

  “Yes.” Tach sighed, and glanced up at the I.V. dripping plasma back into her blood-starved system. The local anesthetic Cody had administered made her forearms feel like blocks of wood. “Guess I cut pretty well too. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Everybody’s got a breaking point.”

  Tach watched Cody wind the bandages about her arms. “People will see them and know that I tried to kill myself.”

  “You did.”

  “I don’t want people to think I’m weak.”

  The long fingers caressed each instrument as Cody laid them in their velvet-lined case. “Is this the first time in your life you’ve ever tried suicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “And in forty-odd years on Earth, you destroyed the mind of a woman you loved, were deported, slid into alcoholism, came close to getting killed—I don’t know how many times—and now this.” She gestured the length of Tach’s body. “If this really is the first time you’ve ever attempted suicide, I’d say you’re made out of twisted blue steel and dynamite. And if you need even more to pat yourself on the back about, remember—you stopped yourself.”

  Tach laid a hand over her belly. “Illyana stopped me.”

  “Illyana,” mused Cody. “Pretty name.”

  “Named for my maternal grandmother eight times removed,” replied Tach. Cody sank back to sit cross-legged on the carpet at Tachyon’s feet. Impulsively Tachyon held out her hand to the older woman. “I ask your pardon. My behavior toward you has been inexcusable.”

  “There was a lot of anger in you today. Was it directed toward me?” Cody’s single eye was serious. Tachyon couldn’t face that level gaze. She fidgeted, glanced about the room, twined a piece of her long gilt hair between her fingers.

  “You are a physical reminder of all I have lost.”

  Now it was Cody’s turn to look away. She laughed, but there was a huskiness in the sound as of unshed tears. “Damn it. I should have slept with you last year.”

  Tach scraped back her hair with both hands. “You humans and your taboos.”

  Cody stood and took a turn around the room. When she completed her agitated little circuit, she settled uneasily onto the sofa next to Tachyon.

  Cody spoke first. “Do you … do you … still want me?”

  “No. Apart from the fact that I’m pregnant, and my sex drive is decidedly reduced, there are those troublesome hormones. Estrogen, progesterone. You’re not making any bells ring.”

  “But a man?” asked Cody softly.

  Tach ran a hand across her mouth and chin. “The body feels the attraction.”

  “And the mind?”

  “I am Tachyon.” Her mind’s eye suddenly gave her a blinding picture of a decaying old room, the smell of mildew from a rotting mattress, Blaise—Tach closed her eyes, felt the skin between her eyes pucker with her frown.

  “What?” asked Cody softly.

  “No.”

  “I’m your friend. I maybe can’t understand—thank God—but I can listen. And I can care.”

  She beat her hands together, a nervous tic. Cody reached out and folded her hands over Tachyon’s.

  “I’m free now. Why does it still unnerve me so?” Tach’s voice was breathy with fear.

  “There’s a reason why there are rape crisis centers, and counseling, and support groups. This is the most violent of all violent assaults. The most demeaning,” Cody said softly.

  Hair flew as Tach shook her head. “I … should be able … to … to handle … this.”

  “Why?”

  She panted, trying to draw air into her stricken lungs. “I’m … I’m a man—”

  “So that’s supposed to make you tougher? Have you ever met a male rape victim? Well, I have. The emotions are the same no matter what your plumbing happens to be. You go through the same shame and rage, guilt, the enormous fear, the depression.” Cody couldn’t control it. Her eye slid down to the bandages that cuffed Tachyon’s wrist. Cody stripped off her surgical gloves, removed the I.V., closed her case. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Cody’s arm around her waist was a welcome support as they walked to the bedroom. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, then they both noticed the blood staining the sheets.

  “That won’t do.…”

  “I’ll get fresh linens.…” they said simultaneously.

  It was a strangely cathartic action … making a bed together. Sheets billowed tentlike, corners were tucked. Then abruptly Cody asked, “Have you cried once since this happened?”

  “Which part of it?” retorted Tach wryly.

  “Take your pick.”

  In a low voice she said, “I wept after the first rape. Then he came a second time, and all the tears died.”

  “It’s a release you need.”

  “It’s an escape I used too often, I think … in my old life.”

  Cody tossed the down comforter onto the bed. “Don’t be a tough guy.”

  “I’m not,” said Tach shrugging out of her robe. “I’m not trying not to cry. I just can’t. All the pain has jammed up somewhere, and I can’t let it out.”

  They curled up beneath the comforter. Sleep had almost claimed Tachyon when Cody’s voice pulled her back, saying softly, “It’s not quite how I envisioned my first time in your bed.”

  Tachyon levered herself up on one elbow, leaned over, and gently kissed Cody on the cheek. “I do love you.”

  They put their arms around each other, huddled close.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Go after Blaise.”

  Chapter Four

  THE MONASTERY NESTLED LIKE a bamboo-and-rice
-paper pearl in a setting of verdant green hills. Gnarled pines held poses against the pale blue sky like tortured, yet graceful, Kabuki dancers. As Tachyon trudged up the road toward the front gates, spume from a small waterfall was carried to her cheek by a short-lived puff of wind. Then the sleepy August heat returned. Crickets droned dully in the trees and bushes. Tach struggled to keep her eyes open. And her sense of misuse deepened. Fortunato would agree to a meeting at precisely the time she most desperately needed her afternoon nap.

  A monk was waiting at the gate. In his dark robe he had seemed just another huddled root at the foot of a gigantic pine. Tach swallowed a gasp as he suddenly unfolded from his meditative pose and stood up.

  The welcoming, toothless smile metamorphosed into a frown of confusion.

  “I’m here to see Fortunato,” said Tach slowly. She touched her breast. “I am Tachyon.”

  The monk brightened at the sound of her name, but then a distressed murmur of Japanese began. The little man’s ears were large and stood out from his almost completely bald head like flaring mushrooms. Like semaphores they made it very clear that she was not entering the monastery, as the old man vigorously shook his head.

  “Look, I am Tachyon. I know you were probably expecting a man, but I promise, your virtues are quite safe with me.” The man was still shaking his head. Tach’s patience snapped like a tightly wound guitar string. “Look! I’ve had a really difficult four days. I would have been here two days ago, except a moron at Tomlin wouldn’t let me on the plane because my passport picture was a little out-of-date.” She briefly covered her eyes with a hand, reliving the humiliation of the moment. “Like the wrong sex. And I’ll tell you right now—long airplane rides are hell on pregnant women.” Communication was not occurring.

  “And you’re not understanding a word I am saying, are you? Maybe you’ll understand this … if you do not let me through this gate, I’m going to…” Her voice trailed away as a plan bloomed.

  Cupping her hands around her belly, she said, “Fortunato! I must see him!”

  The old man’s eyebrows began waggling as furiously as his ears. Panic was added to the jumble of emotions that warred for control of his face. He pointed to her stomach. Tach nodded. The old man opened the gate and indicated a pathway of carefully raked white sand. Tach started walking. And soon reached a small bridge, which arched like a springing fawn across a tumbling white-water mountain stream. It was a startling design, however, for the bridge made a perfect ninety-degree turn in the center, then resumed its leap for the far side. Tach paused for a moment in the center of the turn, gripped the handrail, and stared down into the churning water. The water and the wind through the pines formed a harmony as delicate as a sigh. Dropping her head onto the backs of her folded hands, Tach simply listened and breathed for a long moment. This was a good place to be. But it could be delayed no longer. However lovely the setting, soothing the moment, it was not her place or her fortune to rest here. Fortunato had that luxury, she did not. Firmly she raised her head, squared her shoulders, and trying not to waddle, she walked off the bridge and into the heart of the Zen garden.

  Fortunato was waiting on a stone bench set artistically before a small pagoda. The gravel of the path crunched beneath her feet, but the ace continued to read, not deigning to acknowledge her arrival. A thin thread of anger coiled like a worm in the center of her heart as Tachyon studied that long, spare face. There were more lines about the narrow, bitter mouth and the slanted oriental eyes, and his cocoa hair held a tinge of gray. The years were passing, and their passage had left a permanent record on Fortunato’s face.

  “Hello, Fortunato.” The sound of her soft soprano brought his head up like a spooking horse. “It has been a while.”

  They studied each other. Gray eyes locked with black. It didn’t require a lot of imagination to see the line of fire arcing between them.

  “Tachyon.” And Fortunato’s voice fairly purred with satisfaction.

  “You’re the first person to recognize me—must be the telepathy.”

  “I’ve given all that up.”

  Her disbelief showed. “I’m sure.”

  “It’s true.” The ace set aside his book. “I just recognized the look in the eyes.”

  “Somehow, I do not think that is a compliment.”

  “Glad to see you haven’t lost that rapierlike keenness and understanding.” Tach remained silent. “Looks like you’ve got trouble.”

  “I’ve got trouble,” acknowledged Tachyon.

  The wind and the crickets replaced human conversation. It was capitulation, but Tach had to break the silence first.

  “May I sit down? My back…” she added.

  “Yeah, sure. Take a load off.”

  And then it became too much for the ace. The lines at either side of Fortunato’s mouth deepened as he fought the grin, but it couldn’t be controlled. White teeth dazzled against the dark skin. The smile became a laugh. Three sharp snorts of amusement. Pain shot from the hinge of Tachyon’s jaw into her head as her teeth ground together. “I am so glad you find this a laughing matter. For me it is rather more serious,” she declared in a voice gone shrill with anger.

  “I think it’s funny. What can I say?”

  “You could show a little concern.”

  “Why? I didn’t like you when you were the faggot from outer space. Why should I like you now that you’re the brood mare from the Bronx?”

  “That is an incredibly insensitive and disgusting thing to say. I suppose that’s the way you felt about Peregrine when she carried your child. You couldn’t see the woman. Just the bloated, distended body. Sex is the only thing that’s ever mattered to you. You haven’t even seen your child, have you?” His silence answered her question.

  “You’re a fine one to be giving me a lecture on feminism. You weren’t exactly Mr. Sensitive.”

  “I was never a pimp. And I would never have denied my child. But I don’t know why I expected anything different from you. The Ideal granted you great and potent powers. But you squandered them. You’ve abandoned anyone who’s ever had a claim upon you. Your mother, your women, your child … It is not the action of a grand seignior.”

  “Yeah, because I’m not one. I’m a half-black, half-Jap bastard who fought for everything I ever had, and I didn’t ask for any fucking favors.”

  Looking into those angry black eyes, Tachyon considered rather belatedly that when one comes seeking favors, one ought not get on one’s high horse. She plaited a fold of her loose blouse. Pride was an unpalatable morsel to swallow. “I’m sorry,” said Tach stiffly. “I should not have lectured you.”

  “That’s one you’ve gotten right.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. The hormonal shifts within Tachyon’s borrowed body were causing a firestorm of emotions. Fury wrestled with despair, but even the traumas of pregnancy could not pierce the ice dam that held her tears. Something in Tach’s arid stare rattled Fortunato. Uncomfortably he asked, “Aren’t you going to bawl now? Every time I saw you, you were sniveling. Now at least you’re the right gender to get away with it.” Tach just stared at him. After a lengthy silence the ace asked, “Why the hell did you come here? You’re a reminder of all the shit I left behind.”

  “How nice for you. Some of us cannot run away.” Illyana kicked, and Tach’s hand went instinctively to her belly. Closing her eyes, she twined her thoughts about the baby’s. The emotions were like colored ribbons. She was softly smiling when she again opened her eyes. “It is a rare place where the only sensation is love.”

  “I can think of one other,” said Fortunato, very dry.

  “No, sex is far more complicated. It is warfare, and obligations, and games, and tests.” Tach straightened resolutely and met Fortunato’s frowning gaze. “I have come to you for help.”

  “I don’t give abortions.”

  It was deliberately cruel. Tach was unmoved. “My body has been stolen from me. And I believe the thief has taken it to my home world.
I must go after them. And for that I need you.”

  The receding hairline gave the ace a lot of forehead to furrow and knot as a frown of Jovian proportions crossed his brow. “I don’t get it. As far as I know, you’re the only person who owns a spaceship instead of a dog.”

  “How do you think they got off the world?”

  Something flickered deep in Fortunato’s eyes. It was gone before Tach could identify the emotion that drove it. “You really are fucked.”

  Tach dropped her gaze. “Will you help me?”

  “I still don’t see what I can do.”

  “It has been forty-four years since Jetboy failed over Manhattan. I have seen you all, treated most of you. You are the most powerful ace ever to live. I think your powers are sufficient to cross even light-years. Send a message to my family on Takis.” It was more impassioned than she wanted, but desperation was beginning to chew at the edges of her fragile control.

  “I don’t have any powers. I had to give them up when I entered here.”

  “Your powers are intact. It’s written in your DNA. You can play self-deluding games, but you are a wild card. You will die a wild card.”

  “You know how my power worked.” Fortunato threw out his long arms, indicating the peaceful garden. “You see any way for me to awaken the Kundalini?”

  The words had to crawl from a mouth gone desert dry. “Yes … use me.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, you are desperate.”

  “You will never know how much,” said Tach, so quietly that the ace had to lean in to hear her. His body odor was fresh, citrusy. Tach fought back vomit.

  She had prayed it would not (but feared that it would) come to this. Like most aces Fortunato relied upon a psychological crutch to use his wild-card powers. Peregrine believed she could not fly without her wings. In fact they were useless—she flew using an elaborate telekinetic power. Turtle’s teke power would not work unless he was safely armored in his shell. And Fortunato could not use his awesome telepathy unless he had sex immediately before utilizing his powers. It had been an elaborate joke in Jokertown. “May I charge you up?” had become a euphemism for fucking.