Wildcards wc-1

by George R. R. Martin

  "They also serve who only sit and talk. As you should well know. Besides, you've gotten your fair share of the glory. What about Argentina?"

  "That was more than a year ago, and all I did was talk to the Peronists while Earl and jack intimidated the jackboots in the street. Now, who do you think the press noticed? Us? Not likely. You've got to have flash to get noticed in this business."

  "And just what is this business?" interjected Tachyon, pressing a mug of steaming tea into Blythe's hands.

  David hunched forward, his head thrusting out from his stooped shoulders like an inquisitive bird. "Salvaging something out of the disaster. Using these gifts to improve the human condition."

  "That's how it starts, but will it end there? My experience with super-races-being a member of one myself-is that we take what we want, and the devil take anyone else. When a tiny minority of people on Takis began to develop mental powers, they quickly began interbreeding to make certain no one else would get a chance at the powers. It gave us a planet to rule, and we're only eight percent of the population."

  "We'll be different." Harstein's wry laugh made a mockery of the statement.

  "I hope so. But I'm more comforted by the knowledge that there are only a few dozen of you aces, and that Archibald hasn't welded all of you into this great force for Democracy." His thin lips twisted a bit on the final words.

  Blythe reached out, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. "You disapprove?"

  "I worry."

  "Why?"

  "I think you and David should be grateful that you're out of the public eye. The rage of the have-nots against the haves is never pretty, and your race has a tradition of suspicion and hostility toward the stranger. You aces are surpassing strange. What is it one of your holy books says? Suffer not the witch?"

  "But we're just people," Blythe objected.

  "No, you're not… not anymore, and the others won't forget it. I know of thirty-seven of you, there may be more, and you're undetectable-not like the jokers. National hysteria is a particularly virulent and fast-growing weed. People are seeing Communists everywhere, and it probably wouldn't take much to transfer that distrust to some other terrifying minority-like an unseen, secret, awesomely powered group of people."

  "I think you're overreacting."

  "Am I? Take these HUAC hearings." He gestured toward a pile of newspapers. "And two days ago a federal jury indicted Alger Hiss for perjury. These are not the actions of a sane and stable nation. And this during your month of joy and rebirth."

  "No, that's Easter. This is the first birth." David's weak joke sank into the heavy silence that washed through the room, broken only by the hiss of wind driven snow against the windows.

  Harstein sighed and stretched. "What a gloomy bunch we are. What say we get some dinner, and find a concert? Satchmo is playing uptown.

  "

  Tach shook his head. "I have to go back to the hospital."

  "Now?" wailed Blythe.

  "My darling, I must."

  "Then I'll go with you."

  "No, that's silly. Let David take you to dinner."

  "No." Her lips had tightened into a mulish line. "If you won't let me help, I can at least keep you company."

  He sighed and rolled his eyes as she pulled on her boots. "Stubborn lady," David remarked from beneath the coffee table, where he was scrabbling after the scattered chess pieces. "We've all discovered that it does no good to argue with her."

  "You should try living with her."

  The delicate pillbox hat warped beneath the sudden tightening of her fingers. "Believe me, we can solve that problem."

  "Don't start," Tach said warningly.

  "And don't take that disapproving-father tone with me! I'm not a child, nor one of your secluded Takisian ladies."

  "If you were, you'd behave better; and as for being a child, you're certainly acting like one-and a spoiled one at that. We've had this discussion before, and I'm not going to do what you want."

  "We have not had a discussion. You have constantly closed me off, changed the subject, refused to discuss the matter-"

  "I'm due at the hospital." He started for the door. "You see?" she shot at the uncomfortable Harstein. "Has he cut me off, or has he cut me off?"

  The young man shrugged, and crammed the chess set into the pocket of his shapeless corduroy jacket. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.

  "David, kindly take my genamiri to dinner, and try to return her to me in a somewhat better frame of mind." Blythe cast Harstein a pleading look, while Tachyon stared with regal disdain at the far wall.

  "Hey, folks. I think you ought to take a nice romantic walk in the snow, talk things over, have a late supper, make love and quit bickering. Whatever it is, it can't be that big of a problem."

  "You're right," murmured Blythe, the rigidity passing from her body under the relaxing wash of pheromones. David placed a hand in Tach's back, and urged him out the door. Lifting Blythe's hand, he placed it firmly in Tachyon's, and made a vague gesture of benediction over their heads. "Now go, my children, and sin no more." He followed them down the stairs and into the streets, then bolted for the subway before the pacifying effects of his power could wear off.

  "Now do you see why I don't want you working with me?" The moon had managed to slip beneath the skirt of the clouds, and the pale silver light streaming across the snow made the city look almost clean. They stood on the edge of Central Park, breath mingling in soft white puffs as she stared seriously up into his face.

  "I see that you're trying to protect and shelter me, but I don't think it's necessary and after watching you tonight…" She hesitated, searching for a way to soften her next words. "I think I can deal with it better than you can. You care for your patients, Tach, but their deformities and insanities.. well, they disgust you too."

  He flinched. "Blythe, I'm so ashamed. Do you think they know, can they sense?"

  "No, no, love." Her hand stroked his hair, soothing him as she would one of her young children. "I see it only because I'm so close to you. They see only the compassion."

  "The Ideal knows I've tried to suppress it, but I've never seen such horrors." He jerked away from her comforting arms, and paced the sidewalk. "We don't tolerate deformity. Among the great houses such creatures are destroyed." There was a faint noise, and he turned back to face her. One gloved hand was pressed to her mouth, and her eyes were wide, glittering pits in the glow from a nearby streetlight. "And now you know I'm a monster."

  "I think your culture is monstrous. Every child is precious no matter what its disabilities."

  "So my sister thought, and our monstrous culture destroyed her too."

  "Tell me."

  He began drawing random patterns on a snow-covered park bench. "She was the eldest, some thirty years my senior, but we were very close. She was married outside the house during one of those rare family truces. Her first child was defective and put down, and Jadlan never recovered. She killed herself several months later." His hand swept across the bench, obliterating the drawings. Blythe lifted his hand, and chafed the chilled fingers between her gloved hands. "It started me thinking about the whole structure of my society. Then came the decision to field-test the virus on earth, and that was the end. I couldn't sit by any longer."

  "Your sister must have been special, different, like you."

  "My cousin says it's the Sennari line that we carry. It's a throwback recessive that-according to him, anyway-should never have been permitted to continue. But I'm losing you with all this talk of pedigree, and your teeth are rattling in your head. Let's get home and get you warm."

  "No, not until we settle this." He didn't pretend not to understand. "I can help you, and I insist that you let me share this with you. Give me your mind."

  "No, that would be eight personalities. It's too many."

  "Let me be the judge of that. I'm managing just fine with seven."

  He made a rude noise, and she stiffened with outrage. "Like you managed in Febr
uary when I found Teller and Oppenheimer battling over the hydrogen bomb, while you stood like a zombie in the center of the room?"

  "This will be different. You're beloved to me, your mind will not harm me. And beyond the work… when I have your memories and knowledge you won't be lonely anymore."

  "I haven't been lonely, not since you came."

  "Liar. I've seen the way you gaze off into the distance, and the sad music you pull out of that violin when you think I'm not listening. Let me be there to provide you with a small part of home." She placed a hand across his mouth. "Don't argue." So he didn't, and he allowed himself to be convinced. More out of love for her than any real acceptance of her arguments. And late that night, as her legs tightened about his waist, and her nails raked down his sweat-slick back, and he came in violent release, she reached out, and sucked in his mind as well.

  There was a terrible, gut-wrenching moment of violation, theft, loss, then it was over, and from the mirror of her mind came back two images. The beloved, lady-soft, gentle touch that was Blythe, and a frighteningly familiar and equally beloved image that was him.

  "Damn them all!" Tachyon raged the length of the small antechamber, spun, and fixed Prescott Quinn with an outthrust forefinger. "It is outrageous, unconscionable, to summon us in this manner. How dare they-and by what right do they-pull us from our home, and send us haring off to Washington on two hours'-two hours'-notice?"

  Quinn sucked noisily on the stem of his pipe. "By the right of law and custom. They're members of Congress, and this committee is empowered to call and examine witnesses." He was a burly old man with an impressive gut that stretched his watch chain, complete with Phi Beta Kappa key, across the severe black of his waistcoat.

  "Then call us in to witness-though God knows to whatand have an end to this. We came tumbling down here last night only to be told the hearing had been postponed, and now they keep us cooling our heels for three hours."

  Quinn grunted, and rubbed at his bushy white eyebrows. "If you think this is much of a wait, young man, you've a lot to learn about the federal government."

  "Tack, sit down, have some coffee," murmured Blythe, looking pale but composed in a black knit dress, veiled hat, and gloves.

  David Harstein came mooching into the antechamber, and the two Marine guards at the chamber door stiffened and eyed him warily. "Thank God, a touch of sanity in the midst of madness and nightmares."

  "Oh, David, darling." Blythe's hands clutched feverishly at his shoulders. "Are you all right? Was it terrible yesterday?"

  "No, it was great… all except being continually referred to as the `Jewish gentleman from New York' by that Nazi Rankin. They questioned me about China: I told them we had done everything possible to negotiate a settlement between Mao and Chiang. They of course concurred. I then suggested that they disband these hearings, and they agreed amid much joy and applause, and-"

  "And then you left the room," interrupted Tach. "Yes." His dark head drooped and he contemplated his clasped hands. "They're constructing a glass booth now, and I'll be recalled. Damn them anyway!"

  A supercilious page entered and called for Mrs. Blythe van Renssaeler. She started, her purse falling to the floor. Tach recovered it, and pressed his cheek against hers.

  "Peace, beloved. You're more than a match for them alone, much less with all the rest of you along. And don't forget, I'm with you." She smiled faintly. Quinn took her arm, and escorted her into the hearing room. Tachyon had a brief glimpse of backs, cameras, and a jumble of tables all washed in a fierce white light from the television spots. Then the door closed with a dull thud.

  "Game?" asked David. "Sure, why not."

  "I'm not imposing? Would you rather prepare your testimony?"

  "What testimony? I don't know anything about China."

  "When did they get you?" His deft hands flew, setting up the board.

  "Yesterday afternoon about one."

  "It's all such a crock," the Envoy said with a marked lack of diplomacy, and viciously jammed in a pawn at Queen's pawn four.

  They were still at the game when Blythe and Quinn returned. The board went flying with the alien's precipitous leap, but David didn't remonstrate with him. Blythe was as pale as death, and shaking.

  "What did they do?" demanded Tach, the words harsh in his throat. She didn't answer, merely shivered within the circle of his arms like a wounded animal.

  "Dr. Tachyon, this is going a bit beyond China. We must talk."

  "A moment." He bent to her, and pressed his lips against her temple. He could feel the pulse beating there. Quickly he slipped beneath her defense, and sent a calming tide flowing through her mind. With a final shudder she relaxed, and loosened her grip on the lapel of his pale peach coat. "Sit with David, love. I have to talk to Mr. Quinn." He knew he was talking down to her, but stress could warp the fragile structure she had constructed to keep her divergent personalities separated, and what he had found in that brief incursion had been an eroding edifice.

  The lawyer drew him aside. "China was the excuse, Doctor. The issue now is this virus. I think this committee has gotten the idea that the aces are a subversive force, and they may reflect the mood in the country at large."

  "Dr. Tachyon," called the page. Quinn waved him back with an abrupt slash.

  "Absurd!"

  "Nonetheless, I now understand why you're here. My advice to you is to take the Fifth."

  "Which means?"

  "You refuse to answer all and any questions. That includes your name. Such a response has been construed as a waiver of the Fifth."

  Tach drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. "I do not fear these men, Mr. Quinn, nor will I sit and condemn myself by silence. We will stop this foolishness now!"

  The room was an obstacle course of lights, chairs, tables, people, and the snaking cables. Once he caught his heel, stumbled, pulling himself up with a muttered curse. For an instant the room faded, and he saw the parqueted, chandelierlit expanse of the Ilkazam ballroom and heard the titters of family and friends as he had stood lost in the midst of the intricacies of Princes Baffled. Because of his error the dance had come to a grinding, stumbling halt, and over the music he could hear his cousin Zabb's nasal voice describing in ruthless detail precisely which step he had missed. Hot blood rushed to his cheeks, and brought a line of sweat to his upper lip. Removing a handkerchief he dabbed at the moisture, then noticed that his discomfort was not entirely due to his memories; because of the television lights the room was broiling.

  As he settled himself on the hard, straight-backed wooden chair, Tach noted the skeletal frame of the glass box that was being built to house David. It seemed somehow ominous, like a half-finished scaffold, and he quickly switched his gaze to the nine men who dared to sit in judgment on him and his genamiri. They were remarkable only for their expressions of grim portentousness. Otherwise they were merely a collection of middle-aged to elderly men dressed in ill-fitting dark suits. An expression of regal disdain settled over his features, and he lounged back in the chair, his very relaxation making a mockery of their power.

  "Wish you had heeded me on the matter of your dress," murmured Quinn as he opened his briefcase.

  "You told me to dress well. I did."

  Quinn eyed the swallow-tailed coat and pants of pale peach, the vest embroidered in shades of green and gold, and the high soft boots with their gold tassels. "Black would have been better."

  "I'm not a common laborer."

  "Would you state your name for the committee," said Chairman Wood, without looking up from his papers.

  He leaned in to the microphone. "I am known on your world as Dr. Tachyon."

  "Your full and real name."

  "You're quite certain you want that?"

  "Would I ask it otherwise?" Wood grunted testily.

  "As you wish." Smiling faintly, the alien launched into a recitation of his complete pedigree. "Tisianne brant Ts'ara sek Halima sek Ragnar sek Omian. So ends my mother's line,"

&
nbsp; "Omian being a relative newcomer to the Ilkazam clan having married in from the Zaghloul. My maternal grandfather was Taj brant Parada sek Amurath sek Ledaa sek Shahriar sek Naxina. His sire was Bakonur brant Sennari-"

  "Thank you," Wood said hurriedly. He glanced down the table at his colleagues. "Perhaps for the purposes of this hearing we can make do with his nom de plume?"

  "De guerre," he corrected sweetly, and enjoyed Wood's flush of irritation.

  There followed several pointless and meandering questions about where he lived and worked; then John Rankin of Mississippi leaned in. "Now as I understand it, Dr. Tachyon, you are not a citizen of the United States of America."

  Tach shot Quinn an incredulous glance. There were titters from the assembled journalists, and Rankin glared.

  "No, sir."

  "Then you are an alien." Satisfaction laced the words. "Undeniably," he drawled. Leaning nonchalantly back in the chair, he began to play with the folds of his cravat. Case of South Dakota stepped in. "And did you or did you not enter this country illegally?"

  "There didn't seem to be an immigration center at White Sands, on the other hand I didn't ask, being concerned with more pressing matters at the time."

  "But you have at no time during the intervening years applied for American citizenship?"

  The chair scraped back and Tach was on his feet. "The Ideal grant me patience. This is absurd. I have no desire to become a citizen of your country. Your world I find compelling, and even if my ship were capable of hyperspatial travel I would remain because I have patients who need me. What I do not have is either the time or the inclination to bark and caper for the amusement of this ignorant tribunal. Please, carry on with your little games, but leave me to my work-"

  Quinn pulled him bodily down into the chair, and laid a hand over the mike. "Just keep it up, and you'll be surveying this world from behind the walls of a federal penitentiary," he hissed. "Accept it now! These men have power over you and the means to exercise it. Now apologize, and let's see what we can salvage from this mess."