Wild Cards X: Double Solitaire

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Don’t be so fucking self-righteous. So you haven’t killed … yet. Maybe you just haven’t faced the time when … like, someone special is in terrible danger, and you’ve gotta … well, you’ve just gotta do … things.” Meadows’s voice trailed away into silence, and Jay was acutely aware that his eyes behind their distorting lenses were awash with tears.

  Tisianne’s voice was dead level, but anger hummed along the edges of each word. “If it will make you any happier, Mr. Ackroyd, I can assure you that I am suffering.” She contemplated some internal vision, and it was not a happy one. After several moments she gave herself a shake and resumed. “You can despise me, Mr. Ackroyd, I’m not paying you for your friendship or your approval. I’m paying you—both of you—to protect me, and for you to succeed in that task, you must work together. So at least call truce.”

  “Let’s see if I can boil down the flowery Takisian bullshit into plain English. So I can be bitched off at you, but I have to be nice to Meadows?”

  “Yes.”

  “That I can handle,” Jay concluded as the crowd settled, and the council resumed their chairs.

  Responding to a telepathic call, Tisianne left her place in the audience and walked front and center. After a few minutes twenty-three stern-faced men joined her, Taj among them. Despite the portentous expressions it was tough to take any of it seriously. They were all so tiny, and so improbably dressed. Jay kept expecting them to burst into song like the Mayor of Munchkin Land welcoming Dorothy. It actually wasn’t a half-bad analogy, the detective mused, Tachyon as Dorothy.

  “Meadows is definitely the scarecrow,” Jay muttered. “I’ll be the tin woodsman. Too bad the cowardly lion didn’t have the stones to board the ship.”

  Trips speared him with an elbow, and Jay realized Taj had begun speaking.

  “Shaklan is dead. A direct-line heir has returned. I have served as caretaker to the honor and power of this House, but a grave crisis faces us. The time for caretakers is past. I relinquish my office to Tisianne brant Ts’ara.”

  “How say the swords?”

  It was like high-stakes bidders at a Las Vegas blackjack tournament. A single finger would be lifted, an eyebrow raised, but no words spoken. Jay didn’t know if they were just an uncommonly surly lot, or if they didn’t want to be formally on record.

  The old lady gave a wintry smile. “Twenty ayes and three??*&##*.” It was a word Jay didn’t understand, but since it didn’t sound like the various forms of negatives he knew, he assumed it meant abstentions. “An unprecedented display of unanimity for the Ilkazam,” she said. “We must be in very grave trouble.”

  Nobody responded to her gallows humor. In fact the swords all stood staring down at their toes like unruly little boys faced with an indignant mother. The seven old ladies leaned in toward one another. With their gray-and-white heads and the silver-and-gray dresses, the effect was like watching Stonehenge monoliths gathering for a conference. The confab didn’t last long. The spokeswoman swept the crowd with imperious eyes, then bent that quelling gaze back on Tisianne.

  “Tisianne brant Ts’ara, the regency being at an end, and the council having previously established your identity, we place in your hands—”

  Meadows slewed around to face Jay. A huge smile split his face, and he gave the detective a thumbs-up signal. Jay forgot how pissed he was. He felt the smile coming and raised his hand—

  “Excuse me.” Zabb was sauntering up the central aisle.

  “Oh, fuck,” moaned Mark.

  “This is no longer Tisianne the son of Ts’ara. This is Tisianne the daughter of Ts’ara.” There was a sharp murmur throughout the watchers. “The position of Raiyis is barred to women. Theirs is a higher purpose. One that my cousin is manifestly fulfilling.” And Zabb laid a hand tenderly on Tisianne’s swollen belly.

  The punch to Zabb’s jaw was loud in the silent room.

  Tisianne, her hand still upraised, stood quivering with unleashed fury. Zabb kept smiling. Kept his hand on her stomach.

  Taj jerked forward, anger and shock making him clumsy. “You miserable abortion. Tisianne is a man.”

  “Have you ever seen a pregnant man?” To the council he said, “I agree, the mind is male, but the body … You’ve all borne children. You know where her focus is.” He slapped her belly. “Do you want her leading this House when we are on a war footing?”

  “She’ll recover her rightful body,” Taj objected.

  “And when she does, I’ll be happy to allow her … er, him, to resume his station.”

  “You monster.” Tis’s voice was husky, shaking with emotion. “Without the power of this House I can never recover myself. Congratulations, Zabb, you have what you’ve always wanted, and you didn’t even have to kill me for it.”

  Softly Zabb said, “Which is precisely why I arranged it this way.” The nobleman faced the council. There was a manic light in the pale gray eyes. “Rule, Kib’r, is it a man or a woman?”

  Jay could see the answer even before the old woman spoke. “Woman.”

  “And who is now direct heir?”

  “Wait!” yelled Taj. “I am the regent—”

  “You abdicated that position,” snapped back Zabb. “Rule, Intayes! Who now has the right to rule House Ilkazam?”

  “You.” No emotion crossed that lined face. It could have been a death mask.

  Zabb swung Tisianne up into his arms. Jay expected the alien to start spitting and fighting. Instead she seemed stunned. Zabb started walking for the door. Mark, dragging his briefcase, went blundering in pursuit, barking his shins on chairs, tripping with agitation. Jay followed. They caught Zabb at the door. Pissed as he was at the little shit, the blank look in Tisianne’s eyes frightened Jay. He wondered if this latest blow had snapped her mind.

  Zabb held up a restraining hand, palm out. “No, gentlemen. I am taking my sweet cousin to quarters more appropriate for her sex and condition. And unneutered males are not permitted.”

  There must have been a telepathic summons, for suddenly the two humans were caged by a ring of guards.

  Trips remembered late-night and drunken conversations with Tachyon when the alien had talked of the murder of his mother. Of the plots and counterplots that swirled about the harem, and he called out desperately to Zabb’s retreating back, “She’ll be killed there.”

  Zabb paused, glanced back. “Oh, I think not. After all, she has family there too.”

  “Then she really hasn’t got a prayer, you miserable fuck!” Jay said.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  TAKISIANS, OR AT LEAST the Vayawand, don’t throw flowers. Instead they throw birds, clutching flowers in their little beaks. Out of windows, and off the bridges that spanned the hundreds of canals crisscrossing the capital city, Vaya, the birds dived on the Vayawand nobility and dropped their flowers like floriate bombs.

  They were a flotilla—seven sleek pleasure craft complete with banquets, awnings where one could seek refuge from either the sun or the rain, dance floors, and orchestras. Each boat was playing a different tune, so the cacophony of sound intermingled and rolled across the water. But this was a Takisian celebration, so guards were very much in evidence. Guard ships floated overhead, and more guards walked the footpaths at the sides of the canals.

  Kelly hung over the gunnel and stared down at the little flowers rocking in the chop from the passing ships. He couldn’t bear to look at the covered dais where Blaise was enthroned with his bride-to-be. The little Tarhiji girl had the stunned and joyful expression of a person witnessing a miracle, and all Kelly could think was you poor little thing.

  “Come away, child.” Bat’tam’s voice pulled him from his contemplation of drowning flowers. “You’re driving me to fidgets hanging about like that. What if you pitch overboard?”

  Kelly turned to face Bat’tam, shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I can swim.”

  The elderly nobleman shuddered. He had shuddering down to a real art. There was the shudder to indicate the wine wasn’t up to par.
The shudder for dismay at a person’s style sense—that one Kelly still hadn’t figured out. All the clothes looked ugly and garish to him. The shudder at a note misplayed. But Bat’tam never shuddered when faced with Blaise. He never shuddered with fear. Kelly admired that. Thought the old man was crazy, but admired it.

  “Come, sit. Drink some wine. Eat some food. Be happy.” Kelly obeyed. “How are the ribs? The arm?”

  Kelly gave an experimental twist. “Fine. You guys got bitchin’ medicine.”

  “Bitchin’.” Bat’tam seemed to be tasting the word. “Another strange groundling word.”

  Kelly poured himself a glass of wine. “Nobody on this boat seems very happy.”

  Kelly scanned the glum faces of the Zal’hma at’ Irg. Only Blaise was upbeat, and he was positively giddy—stealing kisses from his shy little bride, waving to the crowds that lined the streets and bridges and hung from windows. After his elevation to the Raiyis’tet, he’d had the skin around his eyes and under his brows inlaid with diamonds and jet. With his black leather jumpsuit and high black boots, he was a striking figure.

  “Indeed, they are not. For if our manic young Raiyis succeeds in galvanizing the Tarhiji, there will be a new social order.”

  The remark fell into the center of the conversations occurring around them with all the elegance of a dropped turd. The voices of the nobles stuttered to a halt. Kelly noticed Durg listening.

  “Shhhh!” he hissed urgently.

  Bat’tam looked around, quite unperturbed. Nodded to the Morakh. Durg moved to them, and the Vayawand nobles thought of other activities in which they could involve themselves. Soon they were isolated in the bow of the boat.

  “I thought you weren’t political?” Durg asked.

  “I’m not.”

  “Confine your interest to the hostage Tisianne body. It would be much safer for you, boykisser.”

  “You and your handler have been at great pains to disguise from House Vayawand the actual effect of all these radical suggestions.” Bat’tam paused and sipped wine. “But this recent act has violated our most basic and immutable law. What makes you think the family will allow this?”

  “Fear. And greed. They want to rule Takis.”

  Durg lifted his head like a coon hound testing the wind. The boat was sliding into a dock. He held out a hand to Kelly. “Come, it is almost time for you to play your part.”

  The central star-shaped plaza of Vaya was awash with Tarhiji. It had taken a tremendous investment of time and men, but every building overlooking the speaker’s platform had been searched and sealed by Blaise’s Morakh guard. If trouble began, the populace were trapped and could be shot like … Durg paused. A human phrase seemed most applicable. “Fish in a barrel.”

  Blaise, the bride, and Kelly, together with a phalanx of Morakh, were on the platform. Knowing the hair-trigger nature of his charge, Durg elected to wait until after Blaise made his speech before informing the young man of the growing danger from Bat’tam. This had to be the speech of his life. Nothing should be allowed to distract him. A final glance about the plaza. Holocams were in place. The Tarhiji were excited and attentive. All seemed ready. Durg returned to the dais and nodded to Blaise.

  The young man uncoiled from his chair and moved to the podium. His height, the heavily muscled body, the shocking choice of color for his clothing, all combined to make him an arresting figure. Blaise lifted his arms, and the crowd, so well trained, fell silent.

  “Look at me. I’m an abomination. And I rule House Vayawand!” He paused and allowed his eyes to scan the absolutely silent crowd. “I’m going to marry this Tarhiji lady and breed an abomination. And he will rule Takis!

  “We’ll do it, my people, but it will take all of us—Tarhiji and Zal’hma at’ Irg—working together. Together we can build a Takis where there are no masters and slaves, only Takisians, and the rest of the galaxy will look on us in wonder.

  “I call you my people because I know your secret hopes, your hidden dreams. For generations you have served the psi lords, and in return they have given you peace and plenty. But it’s not enough. Not anymore. It’s time you shared in those powers that made them your masters, and I’m going to give them to you. From this day forward the laws regarding interbreeding are repealed. Each noble of House Vayawand shall be required to marry not only a woman of his class, but a member of the Tarhiji.”

  An avalanche of sound rolled over the speaker’s podium. Blaise was right, thought Durg, for a thousand generations they have been envious. The cheering lasted a full five minutes. When they at last quieted, Blaise continued.

  “You’ll share more than the powers. You’ll share the longevity of the Zal’hma at’ Irg. They’ve shared with you a fraction of the medical advances that have bestowed upon them lives many times longer than yours. You have lived three, four hundred years. Now you’ll live a thousand. Beginning tomorrow members of the Tarhiji need only present themselves at the gates of House Vayawand, and they will receive the injection reserved, until now, to the Most Bred.”

  Durg felt a jolt through his gut. This had not been part of the prepared and rehearsed speech. The crowd began to cheer. It was certainly playing well.

  “You may wonder why House Vayawand has joined with me in this great endeavor. Aren’t they part of the class structure? Aren’t they part of the problem?” Blaise paused for dramatic effect. “Yes, they were, but they have listened, learned, and understood that stagnation is death. We will shake this culture to its foundations and rebuild a just society, a workers’ paradise.

  “There will be those who will resist us. We will fight the oppressors and offer to their mind blind the same rights given to you. They will join us, and their Houses will become ours. One House in particular has been too proud and too evil to see and accept the right in what we do.”

  It was Kelly’s cue. He continued to stare blankly off into space, and Durg wondered if he’d been right to place the man in such a permanent alcoholic haze. A thumb jabbed hard into a shoulder blade brought Kelly back to the present. He scrambled from his chair and walked forward to join Blaise.

  “They too will fall,” called the bogus Tisianne. “People of Takis, House Ilkazam, hear me. The old ways are dead. A new society dawns before us. I went first to my clan, my House, and offered them the chance to lead this revolution. They rejected and vilified me. Fleeing for my life, I went in search of men of greatness, men brave enough to lead us into that new society. I have broken all custom, all tradition—I have abandoned my House and given allegiance to another. Because I found that brave man.” Kelly laid a hand on Blaise’s shoulder.

  Durg could see the hesitation, the minute shrinking away from contact with Blaise. The Tarhiji would miss it. With luck most Zal’hma at’ Irg would as well.

  Blaise resumed. “Today I have issued an ultimatum to House Rodaleh. They have until tomorrow to merge with Vayawand. If they refuse, we will carry the revolution to them. Are you with me?” Blaise thrust a fist high into the air, and the assent was deafening. “Then go to the registration centers. Join the House army. Prepare for the fight. All of Takis is the prize. May the Ideal guide and bless us.”

  Blaise spread his arms in a final embrace to the crowd, stepped back to Durg’s side. His face was flushed with excitement, his dark eyes glowing. Durg dropped a cloak over the boy’s shoulders.

  “Very well played, my lord, but was it wise to raise the longevity point?”

  “Hey, it worked great.”

  “Yes, but there is no magic serum. The Most Bred live longer because they are bred to live longer.”

  “By the time the sheep figure out we’ve lied to them, we’ll rule Takis. That should mollify them. If not, we can kill them.”

  Durg bowed his head in assent. “As you wish.” They started down the steps of the platform. “There is another matter. Bat’tam brant Sandiqy sek Buad sek Jul grows too close to the false prince.”

  Kelly hesitated at the top of the stairs. Analyzed the remarkable ef
fects of alcohol. It made you both dumb and brave because here he was standing five feet from Blaise trying to read Blaise’s mind.

  There were a lot of minds in the plaza of Vaya, but Kelly had gotten better at this telepathy shit. The pressure of minds no longer hurt like dagger pricks against the surface of his brain. They were just irritating, like a chorus of a thousand of cicadas in the bodark trees back home. He had to sift through them all to find Blaise even though Blaise was terrifyingly close to hand.

  Kelly had discovered that visualization helped, so he pictured his grandmother bent over the scarred wooden table in the kitchen of the Oklahoma farmhouse, squeezing the trigger of a battered old flour sifter while brains popped through the narrow screen.

  Once located, Blaise’s mind was unmistakable. It had a buzz-saw quality. It was primal force with no grace or elegance. It just was. The deeper thoughts were hidden beneath opaque shields, but the surface thought was too strong to be hidden. Blaise was thinking about killing. Killing Bat’tam.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “TOUCH HIM, BITCH, AND I’ll cut off your nipples and feed them to your baby!”

  Tis hadn’t remembered fainting. Actually she didn’t remember much past the time when they reached the heavy doors of Rarrana. It was then that she panicked, fought, beating at Zabb’s chest and face.

  And now she was waking to a threatening voice echoing with the yowl of a back-fence cat warning off interlopers. Raising a hand, she lightly touched her forehead. Felt the residual signature of Zabb. No, not a faint, a coerced sleep. He had subdued her the way a man would tranquilize a frightened animal. Is that how the humans felt when I used my power on them? she wondered.

  The sound of receding footsteps, the slam of a door. More distant and less distinct sounds began to force their way to her consciousness. Babies crying, children laughing, squalling, calling to each other in play. The yap of excited hounds romping with the children. Sounds of adult activity—the muted melody of water falling softly into fountain basins, a string quartet rehearsing, the drone of an announcer on the holo commenting on the action in a sporting competition.