Aces Abroad wc-4

by George R. R. Martin

  But Kenya and the surrounding nations have their own viral nightmare. If the wild card is a chimera here, AIDS is an epidemic. While the president was hosting Senator Hartmann and most of the tour, a few of us were on an exhausting visit to a half-dozen clinics in rural Kenya, hopping from one village to another by helicopter. They assigned us only one battered chopper, and that at Tachyon s insistence. The government would have much preferred that we spend our time lecturing at the university, meeting with educators and political leaders, touring game preserves and museums.

  Most of my fellow delegates were only too glad to comply. The wild card is forty years old, and we have grown used to it-but AIDS, that is a new terror in the world, and one that we have only begun to understand. At home it is thought of as a homosexual affliction, and I confess that I am guilty of thinking of it that way myself, but here in Africa, that belief is given the lie. Already there are more AIDS victims on this continent alone than have ever been infected by the Takisian xenovirus since its release over Manhattan forty years ago.

  And AIDS seems a crueler demon somehow. The wild card kills ninety percent of those who draw it, often in ways that are terrible and painful, but the distance between ninety percent and one hundred is not insignificant if you are among the ten who live. It is the distance between life and death, between hope and despair. Some claim that it's better to die than to live as a joker, but you will not find me among their number. If my own life has not always been happy, nonetheless I have memories I cherish and accomplishments I am proud of. I am glad to have lived, and I do not want to die. I've accepted my death, but that does not mean I welcome it. I have too much unfinished business. Like Robert Tomlin, I have not yet seen The Jolson Story. None of us have.

  In Kenya we saw whole villages that are dying. Alive, smiling, talking, capable of eating and defecating and making love and even babies, alive to all practical purposes-and yet dead. Those who draw the Black Queen may die in the agony of unspeakable transformations, but there are drugs for pain, and at least they die quickly. AIDS is less merciful.

  We have much in common, jokers and AIDS victims.

  Before I left Jokertown, we had been planning for a JADL fund-raising benefit at the Funhouse in late May-a major event with as much big-name entertainment as we could book. After Kenya I cabled instructions back to New York to arrange for the proceeds of the benefit to be split with a suitable AIDS victims' group. We pariahs need to stick together. Perhaps I can still erect a few necessary bridges before my own Black Queen lies face up on the table.

  DOWN BY THE NILE

  Gail Gerstner-Miller

  The torches in the temple burned slowly, steadily, occasionally flickering when someone passed by. Their light illuminated the faces of the people gathered in a small antechamber off the main hall. They were all present, those who looked like ordinary people, and the others who were extraordinary: the cat woman, the jackal-headed man, those with wings, crocodile skin, and bird heads.

  Osiris the far-seer spoke. "The winged one comes."

  "Is she one of us?"

  "Will she help us?"

  "Not directly," Osiris answered. "But within her is that which will have the power to do great things. For now we must wait."

  "We have waited a very long time," said Anubis the jackal. "A little longer will not make a difference."

  The others murmured in agreement. The living gods settled back to patiently wait.

  The room in Luxor's Winter Palace Hotel was sweltering, and it was still only morning. The ceiling fan stirred the sluggish air tiredly and sweat ran in tickling rivulets over Peregrine's rib cage and breasts as she lay propped up in bed, watching josh McCoy slip a new film cassette into his camera. He looked at her and smiled.

  "We'd better get going," he said.

  She' smiled back lazily from the bed, her wings moving gently, bringing more coolness into the room than the slowmoving fan.

  "If you say so." She stood, stretched lithely, and watched McCoy watch her. She walked by him, dancing out of his way as he reached for her. "Haven't you had enough yet?" she asked teasingly as she took a clean pair of jeans from her suitcase. She wiggled into them, batting her wings to keep her balance. "The hotel laundry must have washed these in boiling water." She took a deep breath and pulled on the stubborn zipper. "There."

  "They look great, though," McCoy said. He put his arms around her from behind, and Peregrine shivered as he kissed the back of her neck and caressed her breasts, still sensitive from their morning lovemaking.

  "I thought you said we had to get going." She settled back against him.

  McCoy sighed and pulled away reluctantly. "We do. We have to meet the others in"-he checked his wristwatch"three minutes."

  "Too bad," Peregrine said, smiling mischievously. " I think I could be coaxed into spending all day in bed."

  "Work awaits," McCoy said, rummaging for his clothes as Peregrine put on a tank top. "And I'm anxious to see if these self-proclaimed living gods can do all they claim."

  She watched him as he dressed, admiring his lean, muscular body. He was blond and fit, a documentary filmmaker and cameraman, and a wonderful lover.

  "Got everything? Don't forget your hat. The sun's fierce, even if it is winter."

  "I've got everything I need," Peregrine said with a sidelong glance. "Let's go."

  McCoy turned the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on the door handle to the other side, then closed and locked the door. The hotel corridor was quiet and deserted. Tachyon must have heard their muffled footsteps, because he poked his head out as they passed his room.

  "Morning, Tachy," Peregrine said. "Josh, Father Squid, Hiram, and I are going to catch the afternoon ceremony at the Temple of the Living Gods. Want to come along?"

  "Good morning, my dear." Tachyon, looking resplendent in a white brocade dressing gown, nodded distantly to McCoy. "No, thank you. IT see everything I need to see at the meeting tonight. Right now it's much too hot to venture out." Tachyon looked closely at her. "Are you feeling all right? You look pale."

  " I think the heat's getting to me too," Peregrine replied. "That and the food and water. Or rather the microbes that live in them."

  "We don't need you getting sick," Tachyon said seriously. "Come in and let me do a quick examination." He fanned his face. "We'll find out what's bothering you, and it will give me something useful to do with my day."

  "We don't have the time right now. The others are waiting for us-"

  "Peri," McCoy interrupted, a concerned look on his face, "it'll only take a few minutes. I'll go downstairs and tell Hiram and Father Squid you've been delayed." She hesitated. "Please," he added.

  "Oh, all right." She smiled at him. "I'll see you downstairs. " McCoy nodded and continued down the hallway as Peregrine followed Tachyon into his ornately appointed suite. The sitting room was spacious, and much cooler than the room she shared with McCoy. Of course, she reflected, they had generated a lot of heat themselves that morning.

  "Wow," she commented, glancing around the luxuriously decorated room. "I must have gotten the servants' quarters."

  "It's really something, isn't it? I especially like the bed." Tachyon pointed to a large four-poster draped with white netting that was visible through the bedroom's open door. "You have to climb steps to get into it."

  "What fun!"

  He glanced at her mischievously. "Want to try it out?"

  "No, thanks. I've already had my morning sex."

  "Peri," Tachyon complained in a teasing tone, "I don't understand why you're attracted to that man." He retrieved his red leather medical bag from the closet. "Sit there," he said, indicating a plush velvet wingback chair, "and open your mouth. Say ahhh."

  "Ahh," Peregrine repeated obediently after seating herself. Tachyon peered down her throat. "Well, that looks nice and healthy." He swiftly examined her ears and looked into her eyes. "Seems okay. Tell me about your symptoms." He removed his stethoscope from his bag. "Nausea, vomiting, dizziness?"

/>   "Some nausea and vomiting."

  "When? After you eat?"

  "No, not really. Anytime."

  "Do you get sick every day?"

  "No. Maybe a couple times a week."

  "Hmmmm." He lifted her shirt up and held his stethoscope against her left breast. She jumped at the touch of cold steel against her warm flesh. "Sorry… heartbeat is strong and regular. How long has this vomiting been occurring?"

  "A couple of months, I guess. Since before the tour started. I thought it was stress related."

  He frowned. "You've been vomiting for a couple of months, and you didn't see fit to consult me? I am your doctor."

  She squirmed uncomfortably. "Tachy, you've been so busy. I didn't want to bother you. I think it's all the traveling, the food, different water, different standards of hygiene."

  "Allow me to make the diagnosis, if you please, young lady. Are you getting enough sleep, or is your new boyfriend keeping you up all hours?"

  "I'm getting to bed early every night," she assured him. "I'm certain you are," he said drily. "But that wasn't what I asked. Are you getting enough sleep?"

  Peregrine blushed. "Of course I am."

  Tachyon replaced his equipment in his bag. "How's your menstrual cycle? Any problems?"

  "Well, I haven't had a period in a while, but that's not unusual, even though I'm on the pill."

  "Peri, please try to be a little more precise. How long is `a while'?"

  She bit her lip and waved her wings gently. " I don't know, a couple of months, I guess."

  "Hmmmmm. Come here." He led her into his bedroom, and her wings instinctively curled over her body. The air conditioner was going full blast and it felt about twenty degrees cooler. Tachyon gestured at the bed. "Take off your jeans and lie down."

  "Are you sure this is a medical examination?" she asked him teasingly.

  "Do you want me to call a chaperon?"

  "Don't be silly. I trust you!"

  "You shouldn't," Tachyon leered. He raised an eyebrow as Peregrine kicked off her Nikes and peeled off her jeans. "Don't you wear underwear?"

  "Never. It gets in the way. Do you want me to take off my shirt too?"

  "If you do, you may never leave this room!" Tachyon threatened.

  She laughed and kissed his cheek. "What's the big deal? You've examined me a million times."

  "In the proper surroundings, with you in a medical gown and a nurse in the room," he retorted. "Never with you naked, almost naked," he corrected, "in my bedroom." He tossed her a towel. "Here, cover yourself."

  Tachyon admired her long, tanned legs and shapely buttocks as she arranged herself on his bed, draping the towel discreetly over her hips. The blast of refrigerated air coming from the laboring air conditioner raised goosebumps all over her, but Tachyon ignored them.

  "Your hands better be warm," Peregrine warned as he knelt next to her.

  "Just like my heart," Tachyon said, palpating her stomach. "Does this hurt?"

  "No."

  "Here? Here?"

  She shook her head.

  "Don't move," he ordered. "I need my stethoscope." This time he warmed the metal head with his hand before placing it on her stomach. "Have you had much indigestion?"

  "Some."

  A strange expression crossed Tachyon's foxy face as he assisted her off the bed. "Get your jeans on. I'll take a blood sample, and then you can go play tourist with the others."

  He got the syringe ready while she finished tying her track shoes. Peregrine held out her arm, winced as he expertly raised the vein, swabbed the skin above it, inserted the syringe, and withdrew the blood. She watched in fascination and suddenly realized that the sight of blood was making her ill.

  "Shit." She ran into the bedroom, leaving behind a flurry of feathers, and leaned over the toilet vomiting up her room service breakfast and what was left of last night's dinner and champagne.

  Tachyon held her shoulders while she was sick, and as she sagged against the tub, exhausted, wiped her face with a warm, wet washcloth.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I think so." He helped her to her feet. "It was the blood. Although the sight of blood has never bothered me before."

  "Peregrine, I don't think that you should go sight-seeing this morning. The place for you is bed, alone, with a cup of hot tea."

  "No," she protested. "I'm fine. It's just all this traveling. If I feel sick, josh will bring me back here."

  "I'll never understand women." He shook his head sadly. "To prefer a mere human when you could have me. Come here and I'll bandage that hole I put in your arm." He busied himself with sterile gauze and tape.

  Peregrine smiled gently. "You're sweet, Doctor, but your heart is buried in the past. I'm getting to the point now that I'm ready for a permanent relationship, and I don't think you would give me that."

  "And he can?"

  She shrugged, her wings moving with her shoulders. "I hope so. We'll see, won't we?"

  She picked up her bag and hat from the chair and walked to the door.

  "Peri, I wish you would reconsider."

  "What? Sleeping with you or sight-seeing?"

  "Sight-seeing, wicked one."

  "I'm fine now. Please stop worrying. Honestly, I've never had so many people worrying about me as on this trip."

  "That's because, my dear, under your New York glamour, you're incredibly vulnerable. You make people want to protect you." He opened the door for her. "Be careful with McCoy, Peri. I don't want you to get hurt."

  She kissed him as she left the room. Her wings brushed the doorway and a flurry of fine feathers fell to the floor. "Damn," she said, stooping and picking one up. "I seem to be losing a lot of these lately."

  "Indeed?" Tachyon looked curious. "No, don't bother with them. The maid will clean them up."

  "Okay. Good-bye. Have fun with your tests."

  Tachyon's eyes were worried as they followed Peregrine's graceful body down the hallway. He closed the door, one of her feathers in his hand.

  "This doesn't look good," he said aloud as he tickled his chin with her feather. "Not good at all."

  Peregrine spotted McCoy in the lobby talking to a stocky, dark man in a white uniform. Her two other companions were lounging nearby. Hiram Worchester, she reflected, was looking a little haggard. Hiram, one of Peregrine's oldest and dearest friends, was dressed in one of his custom-made tropical-weight suits, but it hung loosely on him, almost as if he had lost some of his three hundred plus pounds. Perhaps he was feeling the strain of constant traveling as much as she was. Father Squid, the kindly pastor of the Church of Jesus Christ, joker, made Hiram look almost svelte. He was as tall as a normal man and twice as broad. His face was round and gray, his eyes were covered by nictitating membranes, and a cluster of tentacles hung down over his mouth like a constantly twitching mustache. He always reminded her of one of Lovecraft's fictional Deep Ones, but he was actually much nicer.

  "Peri," said McCoy. "This is Mr. Ahmed. He's with the Tourist Police. Mr. Ahmed, this is Peregrine."

  "This is a pleasure," said the guide, bending to kiss her hand.

  Peregrine responded with a smile and then greeted Hiram and the priest. She turned to josh, who was watching her closely. "You okay?" Josh asked. "You look awful. What did Tachyon do, take a quart of blood?"

  "Of course not. I'm fine," she said, following Ahmed and the others to the waiting limo. And if I keep saying that, she said to herself, maybe I'll even believe it.

  "What on earth?" exclaimed Peregrine as they stopped in front of a metal-and-glass guard station. There were two heavily armed men inside the box, which stood next to a high wall that surrounded several acres of desert that was the Temple of the Living Gods. The whitewashed wall was topped with strands of barbed wire and patrolled by men dressed in blue and armed with machine guns.. Video cameras tirelessly surveyed the perimeter. The effect of the pure white wall against the shining sand and bright blue Egyptian sky was dazzling.

  "Because of the Nu
r," explained Ahmed, pointing to the line of tourists waiting to enter the temple grounds, "everyone has to pass through two detectors, one for metal and the other for nitrates. These fanatics are determined to destroy the temple and the gods. They have already made several attacks against the temple, but so far they've been stopped before doing much damage."

  "Who are the Nur?" Father Squid asked.

  "They are the followers of Nur al-Allah, a false prophet determined to unite all Islamic sects under himself," Ahmed said. "He has decided that Allah desires the destruction of all those deformed by the wild card virus, and so the Temple of the Living Gods has become one of his sect's targets."

  "Do we have to wait in line with the tourists?" Hiram broke in peevishly. "After all, we are here by special invitation."

  "Oh, no, Mr. Worchester," Ahmed hurriedly answered. "The VIP gate is this way. You will go right through. If you please…"

  As they lined up behind Ahmed, McCoy whispered to Peregrine, "I've never been through a VIP gate, only press gates."

  "Stick with me," she promised. "I'll take you lots of places you've never been before."

  "You already have."

  The VIP gate had its own metal and nitrate detectors. They passed through, watched closely by security guards dressed in the blue robes worn by adherents of the living gods, who thoroughly examined Peregrine's bag and McCoy's camera. An elderly man approached as McCoy's equipment was being returned. He was short, deeply tanned and healthy looking, with gray eyes, white hair, and a magnificant white beard that contrasted nicely with his flowing blue robes.

  "I am Opet Kemel," he announced. His voice was deep, mellifluous, and he knew how to use it to demand attention and respect. " I am the head priest of the Temple of the Living Gods. We are gratifed that you could grace us with your presence." He looked from Father Squid to Peregrine, Hiram, and McCoy, and then back to Peregrine. "Yes, my children will be glad that you have come."

  "Do you mind if we film the ceremony?" asked Peregrine. "Not at all." He gestured expansively. "Come this way and I'll show you the best seats in the house."