Aces Abroad wc-4

by George R. R. Martin

  "Can you give us some background on the temple?" Peregrine asked.

  "Certainly," Kemel replied as they followed him. "The Port Said wild card epidemic of 1948 caused many `mutations,' I believe they're called, among them of course, the celebrated Nasr-Al Haziz, Khof and other great heroes of past years. Many men of Luxor were working on the Said docks at the time and were also affected by the virus. Some passed it on to their children and grandchildren."

  "The true meaning of these mutations struck me over a decade ago when I saw a young boy make clouds drop much-needed rain over his father's fields. I realized that he was an incarnation of Min, the ancient god of crops, and that his presence was a harbinger of the old religion."

  "I was an archaeologist then and had just discovered an intact temple complex"-he pointed at their feet "beneath the ground right where we stand. I convinced Min of his destiny and found others to join us: Osiris, a man pronounced dead who returned to life with visions of the future; Anubis, Taurt, Thoth… Through the years they have all come to the Temple of the Living Gods to listen to the prayers of their petitioners and perform miracles."

  "Exactly what kind of miracles?" Peregrine asked. "Many kinds. For example, if a woman with child is having a difficult time, she will pray to Taurt, goddess of pregnancy and childbirth. Taurt will assure that all will be fine. And it will be. Thoth settles disputes, knowing who tells the truth and who lies. Min, as I have said, can make it rain. Osiris sees bits of the future. It's all quite simple."

  "I see." Kernel's claims seemed reasonable, given the abilities that Peregrine knew the virus could waken in people. "How many gods are there?"

  "Perhaps twenty-five. Some cannot really do anything, Kemel said in confiding tones. "They are what you call jokers. However, they look like the old gods-Bast, for example, is covered with fur and has claws-and they give great comfort to the people who come to pray to them. But see for yourselves. The ceremony is almost ready to begin. He led them past groups of tourists posing next to statues of the gods, booths that sold everything from Kodak film, key rings, and Coca-Cola to replicas of antique jewelry and little statuettes of the gods themselves. They went past the booths, through a narrow doorway into a sandstone block wall set flush against a cliff face, and then down worn stone steps. Goosebumps rose on Peregrine's skin. It was cool inside the structure, which was lit by electric lights that resembled flickering torches. The stairwell was beautifully decorated with bas-relief carvings of everyday life in ancient Egypt, intricately detailed hieroglyphic inscriptions, and representations of animals, birds, gods, and goddesses.

  "What a wonderful job of restoration!" Peregrine exclaimed, enchanted by the beautiful freshness of the reliefs they passed.

  "Actually," Kernel explained, "everything here is just as it was when I discovered it twenty years ago. We added some modern conveniences, like the electricity, of course." He smiled.

  They entered a large chamber, an amphitheater with a stage faced by banked stone benches. The walls of the chamber were lined with glass cases displaying artifacts that, Kemel said, had been discovered in the temple.

  McCoy meticulously recorded them, shooting several minutes of footage of painted wooden statues that looked as fresh as if they had been painted the day before, necklaces, collars, and pectorals of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold, chalices carved of translucent alabaster, unguent jars of jade intricately carved in the shapes of animals, elaborately inlaid tiny chests, and gaming boards, and chairs

  … The exquisite treasures of a dead civilization were displayed before them, a civilization that, Peregrine reflected, Opet Kemel seemed, with his Temple of the Living Gods, to restore.

  "Here we are." Kemel indicated a group of benches at the front of the amphitheater close to the stage, bowed slightly, and departed.

  It didn't take long for the amphitheater to fill. The lights dimmed and the theater became silent. A spotlight shone on the stage, strange music that sounded as old and eerie as the temple itself softly played, and the procession of the living gods began. There was Osiris, the god of death and resurrection, and his consort Isis. Behind him came Hapi, carrying a golden standard. Thoth, the ibis-headed judge, followed with his pet baboon. Shu and Tefnut, brother and sister, god and goddess of the air, floated above the floor. Sobek followed them with his dark, cracked crocodile skin and snoutlike mouth. Hathor, the great mother, had the horns of a cow. Bast, the cat-goddess, moved delicately, her face and body covered with tawny fur, claws protruding from her fingers. Min looked like an ordinary man, but a small cloud hovered above him, following him like an obedient puppy wherever he went. Bes, the handsome dwarf, did cartwheels and walked on his hands. Anubis, the god of the underworld, had the head of a jackal. Horus had falconlike wings…

  On and on they came, crossing the stage slowly and then seating themselves on gilded thrones as they were presented to the audience in English, French, and Arabic.

  After the introductions the gods began to demonstrate their abilities. Shu and Tefnut were gliding in the air, playing tag with Min's cloud, when the unexpected, deafening sound of gunfire shattered the peaceful scene, evoking screams of terror from the spectators trapped in the amphitheater. Hundreds of tourists leapt up and milled about like terrified cattle. Some bolted for the doors at the back, and the stairways soon became clogged by panicked, shrieking people. McCoy, who had pushed Peregrine to the ground and covered her with his body at the first sound of gunfire, dragged her behind one of the large, elaborately carved stone pillars flanking the stage.

  "You okay?" he gasped, peering around the column at the sounds of madness and destruction, his camera whirring. "Uh-huh. What is it?"

  "Three guys with machine guns." His hands were steady and there was an edge of excitement in his voice. "They don t seem to be shooting at the people, just the walls."

  A bullet whined off the pillar. The sound of shattering glass filled the air as the terrorists destroyed the cases filled with the priceless artifacts and raked the beautifully carved walls with machine-gun fire.

  The living gods had fled when the first shot sounded. Only one remained behind, the man who had been introduced as Min. As Peregrine peeked around the pillar, a cloud appeared from nowhere to hang over the terrorists' heads. It started to rain torrents upon them, and slipping and sliding on the wet stone floor, they scattered, trying to find cover from the blinding cloudburst. Peregrine, digging in her bag for her metal talons, noticed Hiram Worchester standing alone, a look of fierce concentration on his face. One of the attackers gave a distressed shout as his gun slipped from his hands and landed on his foot. He collapsed, screaming, blood spattering from his shattered limb. Hiram turned his gaze to the second terrorist as Peregrine pulled on her guantlets.

  "I'm going to try to get above them," she told McCoy. "Be careful," he said, intent on filming the action.

  She flexed her fingers, now encased in leather gauntlets tipped with razor-edged titanium claws. Her wings quivered in anticipation as she took a half-dozen running steps, then beat thunderously as she hurled herself forward and launched herself into the air-and fell jarringly to the floor.

  She caught herself on her hands and knees, skinning her palms on the rough stones and banging her left knee so hard that it went numb after an initial stab of excruciatingly sharp pain.

  For a long second Peregrine refused to believe what had happened. She crouched on the floor, bullets whining around her, then sood and beat her wings again, hard. But nothing happpened. She couldn't fly. She stood in the middle of the floor, ignoring the gunfire around her, trying to figure out what was happening, what she was doing wrong.

  "Peregrine," McCoy shouted, "get down!" The third terrorist aimed at her, screaming incoherently. A look of horror suddenly contorted his face and he swooped toward the ceiling. His gun slipped out of his hand and smashed to the floor. Hiram casually let the man drop thirty feet as the other terrorists were clubbed to the floor by temple security guards. Kemel bustled up, a look of incre
dulous horror on his face.

  "Thank the Merciful Ones you weren't injured!" he cried, rushing to Peregrine, who was still dazed and confused at what had hapened to her.

  "Yeah," she said distantly, then her eyes focused on the walls of the chamber. "But look at all the damage!"

  A small wooden statue, gilded and inlaid with faience and precious stones, lay in fragments at Peregrine's feet. She stopped and picked it up gently, but the fragile wood turned to dust at her touch, leaving behind a twisted shell of gold and jewels. "It survived for so long, only to be destroyed by this madness…" she murmured softly.

  "Ah, yes." Kemel shrugged. "Well, the walls can be restored, and we have more artifacts to put into display cases."

  "Who were those people?" Father Squid asked, imperturbably brushing dust off of his cassock.

  "The Nor," Kemel said. He spat on the floor. "Fanatics!" McCoy rushed up to them, his camera slung over his shoulder. "I thought I told you to be careful," he reproached Peregrine. "Standing in the middle of a room with idiots blazing away with machine guns is not my idea of careful! Thank God that Hiram was watching that guy."

  "I know," Peregrine said, "but it shouldn't have happened that way. I was trying to get airborne, but I couldn't. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. It's strange:" She pushed her long hair out of her eyes, looking troubled. "I don't know what it is."

  The chamber was still in turmoil. The terrorists could have slaughtered hundreds if they had chosen to shoot people rather than the symbols of the old religion, but as it was, several score of tourists had been hit by stray bullets or injured themselves trying to escape. Temple security guards were trying to help those who were hurt, but there were so many of them lying crumpled on the stone benches, wailing, crying, screaming, bleeding…

  Peregrine turned from McCoy and the others, nauseated to the point of vomiting, but there was nothing in her stomach to throw up. McCoy held her as she was racked by dry heaves. When she stopped shuddering, she leaned against him gratefully.

  He took her hand gently. "We'd better get you to Dr. Tachyon."

  On the way back to the Winter Palace Hotel, McCoy put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Everything is going to be okay," he soothed. "You're probably just tired."

  "What if it isn't that? What if something is really wrong with me? What," she asked in a horror-striken whisper, "if I'll never fly again?" She buried her face against McCoy's shoulder as the others looked on in mute sympathy. Her tears soaked through his shirt as he stroked her long brown hair. "Everything will be all right, Peri. I promise."

  "Hmmm, I should have expected that," Tachyon said as Peregrine tearfully told him her story.

  "What do you mean?" asked McCoy. "What's wrong with her?"

  Tachyon eyed josh McCoy coldly. "It's rather private. Between a woman and her physician. So…"

  "Anything that concerns Peri concerns me."

  "It's that way, is it?" Tachyon looked at McCoy hostilely. "It's all right, josh," said Peregrine. She hugged him. "If that's the way you want it." McCoy turned to go. "I'll wait for you in the bar."

  Tachyon closed the door behind him. "Now, sit down and wipe your eyes. It's nothing serious, really. You're losing your feathers because of hormonal changes. Your mind has recognized your condition and has blocked your power as a means of protection."

  "Condition? Protection? What's wrong with me?" Peregrine perched on the edge of the sofa. Tachyon sat next to her and took her cold hands in his.

  "It's nothing that won't be cleared up in a few months."

  His lilac eyes looked straight into her blue ones. "You're pregnant."

  "What!" Peregrine sank back against the sofa cushions. "That's impossible! How can I be pregnant? I've been on the pill forever!" She sat up again. "What will NBC say? I wonder if this is covered in my contract?"

  "I suggest you stop taking the pill and all other drugs, including alcohol. After all, you want a happy, healthy baby."

  "Tachy, this is ridiculous! I can't be pregnant! Are you sure?"

  "Quite. And judging from your symptoms, I'd say you were about four months along." He nodded at the door. "How will your lover feel about being a father?"

  "Josh isn't the father. We've only been together for a couple of weeks." Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, my God!"

  "What is it?" Tachyon asked, concern in his voice and on his face.

  She got off the sofa and began walking around the room, her wings fluttering absently. "Doctor, what would happen to the baby if both parents carried the wild card? Joker mother, ace father, that sort of thing?" She stopped by the marble mantel and fiddled with the dusty knickknacks set on it. "Why?" Tachyon asked suspiciously. "If McCoy isn't the father, who is? An ace?"

  "Yeah."

  "Who?"

  She sighed and put aside the figurine she was playing with. " I don't think it really matters. I'll never see him again. It was just one night." She smiled in recollection. "What a night!"

  Tachyon suddenly remembered the dinner at Aces High on Wild Card Day. Peregrine had left the restaurant with"Fortunato?" he shouted. "Fortunato's the father? You went to bed with that, that pimp? Have you no taste? You won't sleep with me, but you'll lay with him!" He stopped shouting and took several deep breaths. He walked to the room's bar and poured himself a brandy. Peregrine looked at him in amazement.

  "I cannot believe it," Tachyon repeated, swallowing most of the glass. " I have so much more to offer."

  Right, she thought. Another notch on your bedpost. But then maybe I was just that for Fortunato too.

  "Let's face it, Doctor," Peregrine said flippantly, angered by his self-centeredness. "He's the only man I've ever screwed that made me glow. It was absolutely incredible." She smiled inside at the furious look on Tachyon's face. "But that's not important now. What about the baby?"

  A multitude of thoughts dashed through her mind. I'll have to redo my apartment, she thought. I hope they've fixed the roof. A baby can't live in a house without a roof. Maybe I should move upstate. That would probably be better for a child. She smiled to herself. A big house with a large lawn, trees, and a garden. And dogs. I never thought about having a baby. Will I be a good mother? This is a good time to find out. I'm thirty-two and the old biological clock is ticking away.

  But how did it happen? The pill had always worked before. Fortunato's powers, she realized, are based on his potent sexuality. Perhaps they somehow circumvented the contraceptives. Fortunato… and josh! How would he react to the news? What would he think?

  Tachyon's voice broke into her reverie. "Have you heard a word I've said?" he demanded.

  Peregrine blushed. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about being a mother."

  He groaned. "Peri, it's not that simple," he said gently. "Why not?"

  "Both you and that man have the wild card. Therefore the child will have a ninety percent chance of dying before or at birth. A nine percent chance of being a joker, and one percent, one percent," he emphasized, "of being an ace." He drank more brandy. "The odds are terrible, terrible. The child has no chance. None at all."

  Peregrine began pacing back and forth. "Is there something you can do, some sort of test, that can tell if the baby is all right now?"

  "Well, yes, I can do an ultrasound: It's abysmally primitive, but it'll tell if the child is developing normally or not. If the baby is not, I suggest-no, I urge you, very strongly, to have an abortion. There are already enough jokers in this world," he said bitterly.

  "And if the baby is normal?"

  Tachyon -sighed. "The virus often doesn't express itself until birth. If the child survives the birth trauma without the virus manifesting, then you wait. Wait and wonder what will happen, and when it will happen. Peregrine, if you allow the child to be born, you will spend your whole life in agony, worrying and trying to protect it from everything. Consider the stresses of childhood and adolescence, any one of which might trigger the virus. Is that fair to you? To your child? To the man waiting for you do
wnstairs? Providing," Tachyon added coldly, "he still wants to be a part of your life when he learns of this."

  "I'll have to take my chances with josh," she said swiftly, coming again to the thought that dominated her mind. "Can you do the ultrasound soon?"

  "I'll see if I can make arrangements at the hospital. If we can't do it in Luxor, then you'll have to wait until we get back to Cairo. If the child is abnormal, you must consider an abortion. Actually you should have an abortion, regardless." She stared at him. "Destroy what may be a healthy human being? It might be like me," she argued. "Or Fortunato."

  "Peri, you don't know how good the virus was to you. You've parlayed your wings into fame and financial success. You are one of the fortunate few."

  "Of course I am. I mean, I'm pretty, but nothing special. Pretty girls are a dime a dozen. Actually I have you to thank for my success."

  "This is the first time anyone has thanked me for helping to destroy the lives of millions of people," Tachyon said grimly.

  "You tried to stop it," she said reassuringly. "It's not your fault Jetboy screwed up."

  "Peri, Tachyon said grimly, changing the subject as if the failures of the past were too painful to dwell upon, "if you don't terminate the pregnancy, you'll be showing very shortly.

  "You'd better start thinking about what you're going to tell people."

  "Why, the truth of course. That I'm going to have a baby."

  "What if they ask about the father?"

  "That's nobody's business but mine!"

  "And, I would submit," Tachyon said, "McCoy's."

  "I guess you're right. But the world doesn't have to know about Fortunato. Please don't tell anyone. I'd hate for him to read it in the papers. I'd rather tell him myself." If I ever see him again, she added silently. "Please?"

  "It is not my place to inform him," Tachyon said coldly. "But he must be told. It is his right." He frowned. " I don't know what you saw in that man. If it had been me, this would have never happened."