Wild Cards: Aces Abroad

by George R. R. Martin

  The restaurant doors flew open, and the delegation flowed out like water through a broken dam. After five months of formal dinners and endless speeches, it was no wonder they fled.

  Braun, elegant in his white tie and tails, paused to light a cigarette. Tachyon touched him with a thread of telepathy.

  Jack.

  He stiffened, but gave no other outward sign.

  Gregg Hartmann glanced back. “Jack, are you coming?”

  “I’ll catch up with you. Think I’ll enjoy the air and the view and watch those crazy kids skydive.” He pointed to Mistral and Racine.

  A few moments later he joined Tachyon at the rail.

  “Bonnell’s going to set up a meeting.”

  Braun grunted, flicked ash. “The Sûreté were at the hotel when I got back. They tried to be subtle about questioning the delegation as to your whereabouts, but the news hounds are snuffling. They sense a story.”

  The Takisian shrugged it aside with a hunch of the shoulder. “Will you come with me? To the meeting?”

  Ancestors, how it stuck in the throat to ask him for help!

  “Sure.”

  “I may need help with the father.”

  “So you’re going to do . . .”

  “Whatever it takes. I want him.”

  Montmartre. Where artists, legitimate and otherwise, swarmed like locusts ready to fall upon the unwary tourist. A portrait of your beautiful wife, monsieur. The cost politely never mentioned, then when it was completed a charge sufficient to purchase an old master.

  Tour buses groaned up the hill and disgorged their eager pas­sengers. The Gypsy children, circling like vultures, moved in. The European travelers, wise to the ways of these innocent-faced thieves, drove them away with loud threats. The Japanese and Americans, lulled by sparkling black eyes in dark faces, allowed them to approach. Later they would rue it when they discovered the loss of wallets, watches, jewelry.

  So many people, and one small boy.

  Braun, hands on hips, gazed out across the plaza before Sacré-Coeur. It was awash with people. Easels thrust up like masts from a colorful surging sea. He sighed, checked his watch.

  “They’re late.”

  “Patience.”

  Braun stared pointedly at his watch again. The Gypsy chil­dren attracted by the slim gold band of the Longines crept forward.

  “Beat it!” Jack roared. “Jesus, where do they all come from? Is there a Gypsy factory the same way there’s a hooker factory?”

  “They’re usually sold by their mothers to ‘talent scouts’ from France and Italy. They’re then trained to steal and work like slaves for their owners.”

  “Jesus, sounds like something out of Dickens.”

  Tachyon shaded his eyes with one slim hand and searched for Bonnell.

  “You know you were supposed to address a conference of researchers today.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, did you call to cancel?”

  “No, I forgot. I have more important things on my mind right now than genetic research.”

  “I’d say that’s exactly what you have on your mind,” came Braun’s dry reply.

  A taxi pulled up, and Bonnell struggled painfully out. He was followed by a man and a small boy. Tachyon’s fingers dug deep into Jack’s bicep.

  “Look. Dear God!”

  “What?”

  “That man. He’s the clerk from the hotel.”

  “Huh?”

  “He was at the Intercontinental.”

  The trio were walking toward them. Suddenly the father froze, pointed at Jack, gestured emphatically, grabbed the child by the wrist, and hustled for the taxi.

  “No, dear God, no.” Tachyon ran forward a few steps. Reached out, his power closing about their minds like a vise. They froze. He walked slowly toward them. Felt his breath go short as he devoured the small, stubborn face beneath its cap of red hair. The boy was fighting with not insignificant power, and only a quarter Takisian. Pride surged through Tach.

  Suddenly he was flung to the ground, fists and rocks raining down upon him. He clung desperately to the control while the Gypsy children plucked at him, removing wallet, watch, and all the time continuing the hysterical beating. Jack waded in and began plucking urchins off him.

  “No no, catch them. Don’t worry about me!” screamed Tach. With a leg sweep he brought two to the ground, lurched to one knee, stiffened his fingers, and jabbed them hard into one gangling teenager’s throat. The boy fell back, choking.

  Jack hesitated, turned toward Andrieux and the boy, broke into a run. Tachyon, distracted, watched his progress. Never even saw the boot come swinging in. Pain exploded in his temple. Distantly he heard someone shouting, then bitter darkness.

  Bonnell was wiping his face with a damp handkerchief when he finally came around. Desperately Tachyon levered up onto his elbows, then fell back as the motion sent waves of pain through his head and filled the back of his throat with nausea.

  “Did you get them?”

  “No.” Jack was holding a bumper like a man displaying a prize catch. “When you went under they ran for it and made it into the cab. I tried to grab the car, but could only get the bumper. It came off,” he added unnecessarily. Jack eyed the interested crowd that had surrounded them and shooed them away.

  “Then we’ve lost them.”

  “What did you expect? You turn up with the Judas Ace,” said Bonnell angrily.

  Jack flinched, murmured through stiff lips, “That was a long time ago.”

  “Some of us don’t forget. And others of us shouldn’t.” He glared at Tachyon. “I thought I could trust you.”

  “Jack, go away.”

  “Well, fuck you too.” Long, jerky strides carried him into the crowd and out of sight.

  “It’s funny, but I feel very badly about that.” He gave himself a shake. “So what do we do now?”

  “First I extract a promise from you that there will be no more stunts like today.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll reset the meeting for tonight. And this time come alone.”

  Jack wasn’t sure why he did it. After the insult Tachyon had given him, he should have just washed his hands of the whole thing or told the Sûreté everything he knew. Instead he turned up at the Lys with an ice pack and aspirin.

  “Thank you, but I do have a medical kit.”

  Jack tossed the bottle several times. “Oh, yeah? Well, then I’ll take them. This whole thing is giving me a headache.”

  Tach lifted the pack from his eye. “Why you?”

  “Lie down and leave that thing on your eye.” He scratched at his chin. “Look, let me throw something out to you. Doesn’t this whole thing strike you as just a little too convenient?”

  “In what way?” But Jack could tell from the little alien’s cau­tious tone that he’d struck a nerve.

  “Instead of just giving you Andrieux’s address, Bonnell insists on setting up a meeting. They tried to split—”

  “Because you were there.”

  “Yeah, right. You mind control them, then you just happen to get attacked by a gang of Gypsy children. I’ve done a little checking around. They never do that kind of thing. I think somebody had this arranged ahead of time. To make certain you couldn’t use your mind control. And what about Andrieux? You said he was the clerk at the hotel. Then why did he deny any knowledge of Danelle? She was his mother-in-law, for Christ’s sake. This thing stinks to high heaven.”

  Tachyon flung the ice pack against the wall. “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “Don’t work with Bonnell anymore. Don’t go to any more meet­ings. Let me see what I can do with the bomb fragments. Rochambeau has agreed to work with Ray.”

  “That could take weeks. We leave in a few days.”

  “You are fucking obsessed with this!”

  “Yes!”

  “Why? Is it because you’re impotent? Is that the big deal here?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss this.”

&n
bsp; “I know you don’t, but you’ve got to! You’re not thinking this through, Tachyon. What it could do to the tour, to your reputa­tion—to mine for that matter. We’re withholding vital evidence pertaining to a murder.”

  “You didn’t have to become involved.”

  “I know that, and sometimes I wish to Christ I hadn’t. But I’m into it now, so I’ll see it through to the end. So are you going to sit tight and see what I can find?”

  “Yes, I’ll wait to see what you find out.”

  Jack shot him a suspicious glance. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”

  “Oh, Jack.” The big ace paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back. “I apologize for this afternoon. It was wrong of me to send you away.”

  It was obvious from the Takisian’s expression what this was costing him. “Okay,” Jack replied gruffly.

  It was an old house, a very old house, in the university district. Cracks cut the dingy plaster walls, and the musty odor of mold hung in the air. Bonnell gave Tachyon’s arm a hard squeeze.

  “Remember not to expect too much. This child doesn’t know you.”

  Tachyon barely heard him, certainly paid no attention. He was already heading up the stairs.

  There were five people in the room, but Tachyon saw only the boy. Perched on a stool, he was swinging one foot, slamming his heel rhythmically into a battered wooden leg. His fine straight hair lacked the metallic copper fire of his grandsire’s, but it was nonetheless a deep rich red. Tach felt a surge of pride at this evidence of his prepotence. Straight red brows gave Blaise an overly serious expression that set oddly on the narrow child’s face. His eyes were a brilliant purple-black.

  Standing behind, a hand possessively on his son’s shoulder, was Andrieux. Tachyon studied him with the critical eye of a Takisian psi lord evaluating breeding stock. Not bad, human of course, but not bad. Definitely handsome, and he appeared intelligent. Still it was hard to tell. If only he could run tests. . . . He tried to close his mind to the unwelcome suspicion that this man had been instru­mental in Dani’s death.

  He looked back to Blaise and found the boy studying him with equal interest. There was nothing shy about the gaze. Suddenly Tach’s shields repelled a powerful mind assault.

  “Trying to pay me back for yesterday?”

  “Mais oui. You took my mind.”

  “You take people’s minds.”

  “Of course. No one can stop me.”

  “I can.” The brows snapped together in a thunderous frown. “I’m Tachyon. I’m your grandfather.”

  “You don’t look like a grandfather.”

  “My kind live a very long time.”

  “Will I?”

  “Longer than a human.” The boy seemed pleased with this oblique reference to his alienness.

  As they talked, Tach made a preliminary probe of his abilities. An unbelievable mind control aptitude for one so young. And all self-taught, that was the truly amazing thing. With proper instruc­tion he would be a force to be reckoned with. No teke, no precog, and worst of all almost no telepathy. He was virtually mind blind.

  That’s what comes of unrestricted and unplanned breeding.

  “Doctor,” said Claude. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “First I would like to give Blaise a hug.” He looked inquiringly at the boy, who made a face.

  “I don’t like hugs and kisses.”

  “Why not?”

  “It makes me feel like ants are on me.”

  “A common mentat reaction. You will not feel that way with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am your kin and kind. I understand you better than anyone else in the world can ever understand you.” François Andrieux shifted angrily.

  “Well, I’ll try it,” said Blaise decisively, and slid off his stool. Again Tachyon was pleased with his assurance.

  As his arms closed about his grandson’s small form, tears rushed into his eyes.

  “You’re crying,” Blaise accused.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am so very happy to have found you. To know that you exist in the world.”

  Bonnell cleared his throat, a discreet little sound. “As loath as I am to interrupt this, I’m really afraid I must, Doctor.” Tachyon stiffened warily. “We have to talk a little business.”

  “Business?” The word was dangerously low.

  “Yes. I’ve given you what you want.” He indicated Blaise with a flip of a tiny hand. “Now you have to give me what I want. François, take him.”

  Father and son left. Tachyon speculatively studied the remaining men.

  “Please don’t consider a mind-assisted escape. There are more of us waiting outside this room. And my companions are armed.”

  “I somehow assumed they would be.” Tach settled onto a sagging sofa. It sent up a puff of dust under his weight. “So, you are a member of this little gang of galloping terrorists.”

  “No, sir, I lead it.”

  “Umm, and you had Dani killed.”

  “No. That was an act of blatant stupidity for which François has been . . . chastised. I disapprove of subordinates acting on their own initiative. They so often screw up. Don’t you agree?”

  Tachyon’s late cousin Rabdan came instantly to mind, and he found himself nodding. Pulled himself up short. There was something very outré about this chatty little conversation, faced as he was with the man who had attempted to kill hundreds at Versailles.

  “Oh, dear, and I had so hoped that Andrieux was bright,” mused Tachyon, then he asked, “Is this a kidnapping for ransom?”

  “Oh, no, Doctor, you’re quite beyond price.”

  “So I’ve always thought.”

  “No, I need your help. In two days there will be a great debate between all the presidential candidates. We intend to kill as many of them as we can.”

  “Even your own candidate?”

  “In a revolution sometimes sacrifice is necessary. But for your information, I have little loyalty to the Communist Party. They have betrayed the people, lost the will and the strength to make the difficult decisions. The mandate has passed to us.”

  Tach rested his forehead on a hand. “Oh, please, don’t blurt slo­gans at me. It’s one of the most tiresome things about you people.”

  “May I outline my plan?”

  “I don’t see any way I can prevent you.”

  “The security will undoubtedly be very tight.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Bonnell shot him a sharp glance at the irony. Tachyon gazed innocently back.

  “Rather than attempt to run this gauntlet with weapons of our own, we will use those already provided. You and Blaise will mind control as many guards as possible and have them rake the platform with automatic weapons fire. It should have the desired result.”

  “Interesting, but what can you possibly gain by this?”

  “The destruction of France’s ruling elite will throw the country into chaos. When that occurs, I won’t need your esoteric powers. Guns and bombs will suffice. Sometimes the simplest things are often the best.”

  “What a philosopher you are. Perhaps you should set yourself up as a guide to the young.”

  “I already have. I’m Blaise’s beloved Uncle Claude.”

  “Well, this has of course been instructional, but I very much regret that I must refuse.”

  “Not surprising. I had anticipated this. But consider, Doctor, I hold your grandson.”

  “You won’t harm him, he’s too precious to you.”

  “True. But my threat is not of death. If you refuse to accommodate me in this, I will be forced to have certain very unpleasant things done to you, being careful to ensure that you live. I will then disappear with Blaise. You might find it somewhat difficult to trace us when you are a bedridden cripple.”

  He smiled in satisfaction at the look of horror on Tachyon’s face. “Jean will escort you to your room now. There you can reflect upon my offer and, I’m certain, se
e your way clear to help me.”

  “I doubt it,” gritted Tachyon, regaining command of his voice, but it was hollow bravado, and Bonnell undoubtedly knew it.

  The “room” turned out to be the very cold and dank basement of the house. Hours later Blaise arrived with his dinner.

  “I have come to visit with you,” he announced, and Tach sighed, again admiring and regretting Bonnell’s cunning. The joker had obviously made a careful study of Tachyon, his attitudes and culture.

  He ate while Blaise, chin resting in his cupped hands, gazed thoughtfully at him.

  Tach set aside his fork. “You are very silent. I thought we were going to visit.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you. It’s very strange.”

  “What is?”

  “Finding out about you. Now I’m not so special anymore, which bothers me, but it’s also good to know . . .” He considered.

  “That you’re not alone,” suggested Tach gently.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Why do you help them?”

  “Because they are right. The old institutions must fall.”

  “But people have died.”

  “Yes,” he agreed sunnily.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Oh, no. They were bourgeois capitalist pigs and deserved to die. Sometimes killing is the only way.”

  “A very Takisian attitude.”

  “You will help us, won’t you? It will be fun.”

  “Fun!”

  It’s his upbringing, Tach consoled himself. Endow any child with this kind of unsupervised power and they would react the same.

  They talked. Tachyon pieced together a picture of unfettered freedom, virtually no formal schooling, the excitement of playing hide-and-seek with the authorities. More chilling was the realiza­tion that Blaise did not withdraw from his victims when they died. Rather he rode through the terror and pain of their final moment.

  There will be time to correct this, he promised himself.

  “So will you help?” Blaise asked, hopping down from the chair. “Uncle Claude said to be sure and ask you.”