One Eyed Jacks

by George R. R. Martin

  They started walking down the midway. The air was redolent with the smell of stale grease, corn dogs, cotton candy. Overhead the sky was a diffuse milky white as the high clouds reflected back the lights of New York. Barkers squalled from their cheap and gaudy arcades.

  "See Tiny Tina, the world's smallest horse."

  "Three balls for a dollar. Knock over the milk bottles, and a prize is yours."

  Screams from the more garishly neon-decorated rides ripped the night air. The Parachute jump blossomed like an exotic lily against the night sky. Tiny figures plummeted toward the ground only to be caught by the billowing of a parachute. There was something almost grotesquely maternal about the gigantic ride dropping its little chutes like seedlings around its looming bulk.

  Tachyon tore his gaze away from the jump and asked, "where did they say they were going?"

  "The Zipper," Cody said. "Dreadful."

  "They're boys."

  The couple stopped at the entrance to the ride. Rock music assaulted the ears, the bass line vibrating in the ground itself. The little cars were opening, spilling their stumbling, tottering passengers like peas from a pod. Blaise had his arm around Chris. The human boy was staggering, but Blaise, his hair almost scarlet under the lights, was fully in control. There was a wild light in his dark eyes, and his teeth gleamed.

  "What did you think?" asked Blaise.

  "Damn… that was awesome," replied Chris. Tachyon and Cody exchanged glances at the way the child had awkwardly prefaced the sentence with the cuss word.

  Boys into men, thought Tachyon. So difficult a transition.

  "Chris is what? Thirteen?" he asked. "Yes," said Cody.

  "At thirteen I was just emerging from the women's quarters."

  "That's lousy planning. Just when a boy wants to be around girls, you separate them." She studied her adoles cent son now exchanging playful blows with Blaise. "On second thought, considering the raging hormones at that age, maybe it's a good thing-before any ad hoc biology lessons can begin."

  "We have toys for that."

  "'What!"

  He caught her thought of outrageous sexual implements. "Not those kind of toys, living toys."

  "I think that's worse."

  She walked away to join her son, and Tachyon chewed on his lower lip. She was a strong woman with strong attitudes. Had his flippant remark offended her? Made her think that he regarded her as a toy? He hurried after the threesome wondering how to make amends.

  The boys were walking across each other's lines, each trying to draw Cody's attention. Blaise danced out in front of her, walking backward with easy hip-swinging grace, somehow avoiding the oncoming crowds.

  Maybe he has more telepathy than I think, Tachyon mused as he studied that lean figure. At fourteen Blaise was already three inches taller than his grandsire, and already showed signs of developing a linebacker's shoulders, and the whip-lean hip of the true athlete.

  And you're having a hell of a time taking him during your karate workouts, a disquieting voice reminded him. Tachyon shook off the worry. Blaise had been much better since Cody had entered their lives. Putting aside that it was a celibate relationship, it had all the qualities of a marriage. Cody alternately scolded and mothered Blaise, and he loved it. Her interest in the boy had soothed his mercurial disposition. In fact, it had been months since Tach had felt actively afraid of his grandchild.

  "Cody," Blaise was saying. "Would you like me to win you a stuffed toy? I can do it." He jerked his head toward the shooting gallery.

  Tachyon stepped up to join them. Cocked a grin up at Cody. "Perhaps you better rely upon me. I've been at this a little longer than he has."

  Blaise frowned, and Tach felt a flare of embarrassment. Prancing and snorting in front of his fourteen-yearold grandson. Who was in competition with whom?

  The woman sniffed. "Thanks boys, but I'll win one for myself." She allowed her fingers to rule lightly across the curls on the top of his head. Tach felt as if his lungs had been replaced with stones. It was tough to draw a breath. "A contest," said Blaise, his eyes bright.

  The three males followed Cody to the gallery and laid down their money. She was already testing the weight of the weapon. Tach hefted the rifle. It was awkward lefthanded. Despite his thrice-weekly sessions at the range he still had much to relearn.

  The operator fired up his machine, and a line of rampant bears trundled across the back wall. Blaise and Chris blazed away. Blaise was better than the human boy, but neither of them succeeded in scoring the requisite number to continue. Blaise threw down the rifle and backed off, muttering petulantly in French.

  Tachyon and Cody stepped up to the counter. Began firing. The operator stared openmouthed at their competence. Charging bears fell supine onto all fours and were swept away. The numbers mounted. Chris's cheeks were red with excitement. He hung close to his mother's left side. Blaise's glance was smoldering fire between Tachyon's shoulder blades.

  Tachyon had missed two shots. Cody only one. One more and he was out. He sighted, drew in a breath, held it, squeezed the trigger. The bear remained smugly, stubbornly upright. It seemed to be sneering as it rounded the corner. Tachyon laid down the rifle. Cody kept shooting. It took five more minutes before she had finally missed three shots.

  The man pulled down an enormous white tiger and handed it with a bow to Cody. Tach as a consolation prize got Roger Rabbit.

  The man and woman, with their children in tow, headed back into the shifting color of the midway. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" Tachyon scolded as they waited for Blaise and Chris to buy cotton candy. "For what?"

  "Demolishing my fragile Takisian ego."

  "Takisian, my aunt Betsy. Male ego." She gave him an ironic glance out of her one eye. "Going to win a prize for the little lady," she mocked.

  "Be kind, I am a one-handed shootist."

  "And I'm a one-eyed shootist. So much for excuses." But Tachyon had lost his taste for the banter. He was reliving a nightmare. Blood and bone fragments fountaining into the air. Agony, agony, agony!

  Her cheek was warm against his. Her arm a welcome support.

  "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Memory" he forced out. "We remember more clearly than you humans. It's our curse." He drew his thumb across his forehead. It came away wet. "Oh Ideal, I am sorry, it is passing now"

  Her hand slid down and gathered his prosthetic hand into hers. "You remember the pain…?" Her voice trailed away in a question.

  "As if it were yesterday."

  "Oh, God, I'm sorry"

  Her lips were against his cheek. Whispering the words. The warm breath puffed against his chilled skin, and suddenly Tachyon realized he was in the circle of her arms. Since that day at the clinic they had never done more than touch hands. Now her arms were around him again. Their thighs were lightly touching, and he had a full erection.

  Simultaneously they began muttering apologies and inanities and backed away from each other. Cody hurriedly swept up the boys. Tachyon went in search of a men's room.

  "Meet you at the car," he called to them as he fled in search of cold water to splash on his face and a long pee to relieve the pressure-sort of.

  Roger Rabbit sprawled on the sofa in the office. The tensor lamp threw an almost painful yellow light across the welter of papers on the desk. The rest of the room was in shadow. Tachyon rubbed gritty eyes, picked up his fountain pen, and laboriously scrawled his signature across the bottom of a grant request. His prosthetic right hand was serving as a paperweight at the top of the page.

  Most of the grants had dried up after the bloody events at the Democratic National Convention last July. This grant was for fifteen thousand dollars from the greater New York Franco-American society. Fifteen thousand dollars would keep the Blythe van Renssaeler Memorial Clinic open and operating for about two hours and twentyseven minutes, but all the little thousands added up to joker lives saved.

  Tachyon heard the distinctive quick tap of her heels in the hall outside his of
fice. The door opened, and Cody was there, backlit by the fluorescent bulbs in the hall.

  "What in hell are you doing here? It's two A.M."

  "And why are you here, Madam Surgeon?"

  "I had patients to check on."

  "As do L"

  "Those-" she waved a hand toward the paperwork"are not worth killing yourself over." She crossed to the desk. "People we either cure or bury These"-she swept up a handful of paper from the desk, crumpled them and dropped them into the trash can-"we handle in a different way."

  "Cody, behave yourself." Tachyon dug out the abused paperwork.

  She cocked a hip up onto the desk. Tachyon's mouth went dry. At the amusement park she had been wearing blue jeans: now, unaccountably, she had changed into a skirt. Her pose left a lot of thigh visible. Tachyon was noticing.

  She noticed him noticing and smiled. With the eye patch and the scar it gave her a dangerous predatory look. But sexy: God, she was sexy.

  "You had one hell of an erection at the carnival," she said conversationally. "Made me realize just where I stood with you."

  After swallowing his stomach, Tach forced his voice into the same matter-of-fact tone she had used. "Cody, we have been working together for almost a year. Frankly I'm surprised at my forbearance, and I can hardly be blamed for my body's betrayal."

  "I'm a professional. Soldier, doctor, your chief of, surgery"

  "And a woman," he reminded softly. "And you want me."

  "I would be a liar if I denied it." He picked up his hand and fitted it onto the stump of his right arm. "Could you ever want me?"

  "I don't know. I'm nervous about getting too close to you."

  "Why?"

  "You've had too many women. I don't want to be just another notch on your gun."

  "You make me sound very spoiled… heedless."

  "You are. In some ways you're a real user."

  "As long as we're being this honest you should know that I have been incredibly forbearing and patient with you. I have been willing to wait-"

  She slid off the desk. "Yeah, but I'm worth it," she interrupted.

  "God damn it, woman. I want you!"

  "Tough. Until you lose the revolving door, I'm not interested. If I walk through your bedroom door, I better be the only one."

  "What are you asking for?"

  "Commitment. It's an important word to me. I'm the most loyal friend you'll ever have, Tachyon. But if you betray me I'll kill you. Are you still certain you want me walking through that bedroom door?"

  "I don't know. You frighten me… a little."

  "Good. The game's not big enough if it doesn't scare you."

  She suddenly leaned in and kissed him quick and hard on the lips.

  "What was that for?" Tachyon asked.

  "For being man enough to admit that we women really are the more dangerous sex."

  He combed back his hair. "You have me totally confused."

  "Good."

  The door closed softly behind her.

  Tiny, gaudily dressed figures whirled past in a kaleidoscope of colors. The rifle butt was slick against his cheek. Her eyes warm on the back of his neck. He squeezed convulsively and bullets sprayed like light rays from the barrel of the gun. Tiny Tachyons shattered and died.

  The man was handing down a gigantic toy. He turned to face her. Her expression of pride and love warmed him. Her hand reached out, and stroked down his cheek, unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis. Her lips were hot on the head of his cock. His heart squeezed into a tight painful ball.

  Sperm jetted hot and sticky across his belly. Blaise sat up in bed, breath coming in hoarse gasps.

  Cody, Cody, Cody.

  Cody was just leaving as Blaise and Chris arrived at the apartment. She kissed Chris on the cheek, lifted Blaise's Dodgers cap, and ruled his hair. Fire shot through him, and he stared at her with hot, suggestive eyes. Blaise noticed with satisfaction that she turned away quickly to gather up her purse and briefcase.

  "Okay, outlaws, I'm off to the hospital. There's a chocolate cake on the counter and Coke in the fridge, so no excuses for not studying. The sugar rush ought to be enough to propel you into next week."

  "Okay, Mom," said Chris.

  "Blaise, are you all right?" Cody asked, a hand on the doorknob. "You keep staring at me like a boy with acute constipation."

  Blood flamed in his cheeks, and Blaise's fantasies deflated like his suddenly flaccid penis. "I'm fine," he muttered.

  The door closed behind her, but the scent of her perfume still lingered in his hair.

  Chris was already in the kitchen hacking off two enormous slabs of chocolate cake.

  "Algebra," he said as Blaise walked in. "Do you understand it? And why do we have to understand it?"

  "You might not have to, but I do. It's the first step to calculus and trig, and you have to have all three for astrogation. I've got a spaceship that's going to be mine someday. I have to know how to navigate her."

  "That is so neat," Chris mumbled around a gigantic mouthful. "A spaceship, and a granddad who's an alien."

  "It's not so great."

  Chris gaped at him. "You gotta be kidding. What could be better?"

  "The life I had before." Blaise carefully cut away the icing, and mashed it with his fork. "No school, no homework, no clean up your room. My father did that. Uncle Claude said I was too important to be irritated by the mundane."

  "You've got a father?" asked Chris in honest amazement. "Yes, of course."

  "So… where is he?"

  "In a French prison."

  "How come?"

  "He's a terrorist. Tachyon put him there."

  "That's good."

  "Why?" asked Blaise.

  "Because… well… because-"

  "Chris, it's fun to be a terrorist."

  "Yeah?"

  "You're always on the run. Always changing houses. Passwords, meeting arms dealers at night on the river. Always a step ahead of the stupid flies. You're always walking a step to the left of ordinary people. They have to work or go to school. We watched the artists in Montmartre, ate pastries in cafes on the Left Bank. We walked through the museums and he told me all about the painters, our history. 'Vive la France,' he would say, and then he would laugh and hug me."

  "Who?"

  "Uncle Claude."

  "And was he a terrorist, too?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened to him? Is he in prison like your dad?"

  Very levelly Blaise replied, "No, he's dead." Blaise mashed cake, and watched icing erupt through the tines of the fork. "I think my grandfather killed him."

  "Blaise!" Chris's eyes were wide, and he had chocolate icing around his mouth. It made him look absurdly young, and really stupid.

  "Your mother really likes me," Blaise said, changing the subject abruptly. He was tired of the past. Thinking about it made him sad. Made him mad.

  "Huh?"

  The younger boy's incomprehension infuriated Blaise. Gripping Chris by the hair, he yanked back the human boy's head.

  "She wants me! She's in love with me!"

  "You're crazy!" yelled Chris. "You're just a kid. Like me. You're like my brother, except I don't want you for a brother when you act crazy."

  "We'll never be brothers." Blaise's tone was quiet, dangerously rational. "For us to be brothers… that would imply that Cody and my grandfather-"

  "It could happen."

  Blaise was on Chris again, his long, slim hands closing around the boy's throat, but he exerted no pressure. "No," he said softly. "That is not going to happen."

  He released Chris, and walked out of the apartment.

  "Tachyon, we've got to talk."

  The alien looked up from the microscope. Blinked to clear the moisture from his eyes brought about by tooclose concentration. The woman's agitation beat at him despite her level tone and calm expression.

  "Cody."

  He held out his artificial hand. She laid her hand on his forearm where the prosthesis met flesh
.

  "What happened to Chris?" Tachyon said.

  "Damn." She bit her lip. "Why has this happened?" Humbly he said, "I do not mean to read your thoughts. They are just there for me."

  "I'm my own woman, Tachyon," she warned.

  "I know" He cocked an ankle onto his knee. "Now, tell me what happened."

  "I'm concerned about my son, but the reason for my concern is Blaise."

  Tachyon knew his expression had grown wary. He fiddled with the focusing mechanism on the microscope. You may hide it from yourself, but the world sees, mocked a little voice.

  The Takisian steeled himself.

  Cody continued. "Blaise scared Chris half to death last night."

  "Did he mind-control him?"

  "No, but he wrapped his hands around my kid's throat. He made some crazy remarks about me." Cody made a weary gesture. "Now it sounds so stupid, but I saw the fear in Chris's eyes."

  "Blaise is… erratic at times. In the months since you've been here I've seen an improvement in him. You've been the mother he never had, and he wants to please you. There is less anger in him-"

  "It's not the anger that worries me. There's a coldness in Blaise that's almost inhuman."

  "He is inhuman. He's a quarter Takisian."

  "That's bullshit, and you know it. Genetically humans and Takisians are identical. Maybe you were our ancient astronauts-I don't know, and none of this is relevant. The point is that-"

  She broke off abruptly. "Say it, Cody."

  "Tach, he needs help."

  "I can help him."

  "No. You're the problem."

  He rose and walked away from the truth of that statement.

  Spinning back to face her, he said, "You have to understand. What he's been through. The horrors he has seen and endured." Tach was nervously washing his hands. He noticed and forced himself to stop.

  "His childhood was spent in the hands of a violent revolutionary cell in Paris. Then last year he became a host for a hideous creature. While in its thrall, he experienced his first sexual encounter. He mind-controlled a joker and forced the wretch to literally tear himself to pieces."

  Her hands closed about his, and he looked up into that single fierce dark eye.