Chapter Seventeen
At the foot of the ship’s ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn’t solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.
“Thank you for your services.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap of Zabb’s boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.
“Zabb, you’ve done your job. You’ve delivered me to Takis. Now go away.”
“It’s a free station. I’ve a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren’t home yet.”
“And just what does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing.” He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.
Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station — little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic — both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn’t want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.
Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glass-like floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafés, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.
Two of the Viand were carrying laden plates to a table. Nesfa and several of her crew were inspecting elegant handguns in the window of a nearby gunnery. True to his word, Zabb was in a hat shop arranging a long-tailed, shining cap on his fair head. He spotted Tach, swept off the hat, and gave her a bow so low and so flourishing as to male a mockery of the courtesy.
Takisians, both Tarhiji and Zal’hma at’ Irg, were everywhere, and Tach viewed them with growing alarm. Almost fifty years had sent fashion careening to the opposite extreme. There was still a lot of lace and layers, but the new look among the younger breed was the speed-skater look. Tight spandex caressed every curve and angle. Eye-confusing colors swirled, dotted, or splattered the one-piece suits, and the biotech that had grown this cloth was keyed to galvanic skin responses. Colors shifted and swirled in response to the wearer’s mood and whim. Hair had also adapted to the new look. In place of long curls, peach fuzz across the nearly naked skulls, or a river of straight silk as long as it could be coaxed. Tachyon’s old body was sadly out of fashion with its naturally curly love-locks. Tach’s borrowed body fit right in — or would if it hadn’t been female… and pregnant.
“Nice,” Jay said. “Be nicer if there were a few more babes around to model the spray-on look.”
“We are getting, like, some weird looks, man,” Trips whispered hoarsely.
A scent, rich and spicy, assailed Tachyon’s nostrils, and she froze as the smell crossed time and triggered memory. Mark’s concerns and alarms seemed unimportant, overshadowed as they were by the play of images behind her closed lids.
“You okay?” Jay asked.
“Fritter cakes,” said Tach, swallowing the saliva that filled her mouth.
“Yeah, they smell great. If we had some money, we’d buy some.”
Ignoring him, she continued. “I must have been ten or eleven. Jadlan and I slipped into the private kitchen and made them. The smell woke father, and we thought he would kill us. Instead he laughed and made hot ikadah. We talked until almost dawn.” She bowed her head and lightly touched her stomach. “I never saw Jadlan again.”
“Why is it you’re never happy unless you’re miserable?” growled Jay.
“Guys, we really are in the shitter,” Trips said urgently.
Tach pulled her attention from the past and gawked at the seven Takisian men who had fanned out and were advancing on the trio. They halted just out of arm’s reach, and their demeanor was decidedly hostile. One of the men stepped forward. Two long braids hung at each temple. Beads had been worked into the pale hair, each marking a significant moment in the life of this noble of the House Alaa. The rest of his hair formed a tangled cloud across his shoulders.
“Intaye, do you require aid?”
Tach was confused. “No.”
The man peered closely at her. “Are you of House?”
For a moment the question took her aback. Of course she was of House, the greatest and most puissant house on the Crystal World. Fortunately Takisian caution overrode Takisian pride. It would not do to reveal to strangers the return of the heir to House Ilkazam. Then it finally penetrated — these men were not concerned with her noble pedigree, or her mission. They saw a breeding female. A strange enough sight even among the shops and homes of the Tarhiji. Unheard of among the Zal’hma at’ Irg. And it was obvious this little body had enough grace and beauty to make them question her station.
Tach evaluated her two paladins. Only Jay could effectively pass as a member of the majority population, that ninety-seven percent that actually engaged in industry and agriculture and supported the elegant, telepathic overclass.
Tach shrank shyly against Jay’s side. “No, lord.”
Their interest in her vanished like steel shutters falling behind their eyes. They transferred their attention to Mark, towering head and shoulders over the diminutive Takisians that surrounded him. “And what, by the Ideal, are you?” drawled the Alaa nobleman.
Mark flipped them a peace sign. “Terran, human, from the planet Earth. Peace, man.”
Jay leaned in to Tach and whispered, “He’s gonna say it. I know he’s gonna say it.”
“Like, take us to your leader, man.”
“He said it.” Jay shook his head.
The Takisians exchanged puzzled glances, and Tach felt a smile growing like a sunburst. The Most Bred, the Zal’hma at’ Irg, don’t like jokes they don’t understand. Particularly when they suspect they’re the brunt of the joke. A few black looks were bestowed on the trio, and they dispersed.
“Meadows, you are one crazy fucker.” Jay shook his head again. “Wish I’d thought of it first.” Mark smiled shyly.
“Let’s find a phone. I want to get home.”
“Phone?” queried Jay.
She fluttered her hands like a person waving off flies. Jay stayed stubbornly in place. “Link stage. Okay?”
Fingers flying across the keyboard, Tach tried another combination of numbers. The stage remained stubbornly gray; then the flowing red script appeared, instructing her either to present her credit crystal, or to give a valid account number.
“Maybe they changed my access code,” said Tach. She leaned back and chewed nervously on her lower lip.
All three of them were squeezed into a link booth that consisted of a keyboard and a concave desktop.
“Maybe you don’t have an account any longer,” suggested Jay. “It’s been over forty years.”
“It was my money.”
“Yeah, well, maybe they figured you didn’t need it any longer.”
Mark offered tentatively, “Will they accept a collect call?”
“Would you?” shot back Jay.
“No,” Mark admitted. The ace considered for a moment. “We could, like, cruise around until we spot someone from House Ilkazam.”
Tach was already shaking her head. “Won’t work. Juniors are always assigned to hub duty. These children probably wouldn’t know me in my own form, much less as I am now. No, I need someone who will recognize my mental signature.”
Jay glanced back through the doors of the booth. “Are there panhandlers on Takis?”
Tach ignored him and tried another combination of numbers. Suddenly an arm reached over her shoulder and deposited a black crystal on the keyboard. Silver and red lines crawled through the facets like sluggish lightning.
“Allow me to be of service, cousin,” Zabb drawled. Coolly Tach lifted the crystal and dropped it into the cradle. “Let’s hope no one’s raided your assets.”
Zabb smiled. “No one would dare. In my case the family knew I’d be back.”
The screen flashed once and went black. Tach typed in the link destination. Commandant, platform Ilkazam.
An instant later the six-inch-tall figure of a Takisian appeared in the concave bowl. He wore the gold and white of the Ilkazam officer corps, and there was a certain facial resemblance to Zabb, and to Tachyon as he had been.
“Bazzakra brant Kazz sek Najah sek Mimjal! Blood and Line, this is the first good fortune I’ve had.”
The hologram of the man smiled politely, but wary puzzlement hung about him. “Intaye, are we acquainted?”
Zabb leaned in, his hand resting lightly on Tach’s shoulder. “Surely you remember me, Baz.”
The reaction from Tachyon was instinctive. Teeth bared, Tach brushed Zabb’s hand from her shoulder.
The reaction from Bazzakra was equally instinctive. He rejoiced at the sight of his old commander. “Zabb! We thought you dead.”
“Thought Tis was dead too,” smiled back her cousin. “But here he, er rather she, is. In another predicament as usual.”
“You’re serious? This girlchild is the Heir?”
“Yes.”
Suspicion darkened the gray eyes as Tach frowned up at her cousin. “Why are you doing this? I should have thought you’d be delighted to destroy my chances.”
“No, dear cousin, someone must return home to lead our family.”
“Then you know,” Bazzakra said.
“Know what?” Tach demanded.
But the officer’s mind had jumped to a new consideration. Plucking at his lower lip, he frowned off into space. “I must consult Taj. If it truly is you, Tis, you haven’t lost your flare for a dramatic entrance at the final hour.”
Tach beat the palms of her hands on the desk. “What is happening to my home and House?”
“Not over a public link,” warned Zabb. “You have been among the mudcrawlers too long.”
A second later another figure flickered to life on the holostage. He was dressed in the more elaborate finery that the two humans associated with Tachyon at his flamboyant best. His face was heavily lined, gray streaked his temples, and one long brush of silver ran from a pronounced widow’s peak back over the top of his head.
“Finally, an old geezer,” Jay said. “Too bad he looks like a geriatric skunk.” Mark gave the detective an urgent nudge with his elbow.
Taj studied Zabb’s handsome and arrogant face, the thin lips curved in a slight, scornful smile, and ran a hand wearily over his face. “I know from long experience, Zabb brant Sabina sek Shaza sek Risala, that wherever you are, there dwells trouble. What is it this time?”
“Is this link secure?” asked the younger man.
“Yes. World Link is no doubt raving, but by the time they realize the scramble was deliberate, not technical failure, we will have concluded our business. Whatever that business might be.”
“Tisianne and her two servants require a shuttle.”
“Fascinating.” It was a gift to be able to fill a single word with so much disdain. Zabb flushed. “Are you drunk or insane?”
It was time Tach took a hand. She dreaded it — the look and then either shock or amusement. Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “No, uncle. I am Tisianne. And I need your help. Worse than I did the night I’d been out whoring in the city over the absolute prohibition by father, and he force-locked the entire compound just to catch me. You overrode and slipped me back into the palace.”
The old man seemed to shrink. “Ancestors! It can’t be.”
Tach leaned forward intently. “It is. I can tell you more. The day your sister — my mother — died. I had crawled under her arm, but she was so cold —”
“Stop! Baz, get these… travelers down here. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make inquiries. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“So he believes you?” Mark asked.
“He doesn’t know what to believe,” Tachyon replied. They were waiting outside one of the docking bays. “Any good telepath could have pulled those memories from the real Tachyon’s mind.”
“Zabb did vouch for you.”
“Given our family history, that could end up damning me more than helping me. After my father was… injured, Taj has served as regent to the House. Protecting my throne until my return. Protecting it most notably against Zabb.” She sighed. Her back was aching abominably, and indigestion set her stomach to roiling. “And it won’t take Baz long to discover that Zabb is captaining that Network ship.”
“So we’re really in a ‘have you stopped beating your wife yet?’ situation,” Jay said.
“Not that hopeless. Once me meets me, our bona fides will be established.”
“Yeah?” Jay asked aggressively. Tach simply tapped her temple. “Oh… yeah.” The ace walked a tight, nervous turn. Jay jammed his hands into his pockets. “Some kind of Takisian ordure is hitting whatever passes for the fan on this planet.”
“What makes you think that?”
Jay simply tapped his temple. Zabb, Nesfa, and several Viand arrived.
“I came to say farewell,” said Zabb as if in answer to a question Tachyon hadn’t posed.
“It can’t be soon enough.”
“And I to tell you… goodbye,” Nesfa twinkled at Jay.
Jay’s eyes widened in alarm, his Adam’s apple worked convulsively, and finally a single word emerged. “Great.” He took up a position safely behind Mark Meadows.
Tach returned to a contemplation of the amber lights running in complex patterns over the lintel of the air lock. A voice warned them softly in Takisian that a ship was arriving, and it was unsafe to open the inner door until docking was complete. There was a soft ringing like the chime of a glockenspiel, and the lights went blue.
The lock cycled open, and Bazzakra, flanked by five soldiers, stepped through. The guards quickly fanned out. Their weapons were still holstered, but tension vibrated in the silence. A couple of the Takisians eyed Zabb respectfully, and Tach realized that her rival had been gone only five years. Her absence spanned over forty. Who would remember Tisianne?
Baz was staring at her, mostly at her most obvious physical feature. Feeling as awkward and ungainly as a blimp, she stepped forward and made a quick, sweeping gesture across her forehead.
“Read.”
She felt the delicate probe like the brush of a feather across a fingertip. It fell away at the same moment Bazzakra took a step backward.
“Burning Sky! It is you.”
For an instant he seemed bereft of words. Here in the presence of so many powerful telepaths, Tach was discovering that her feeble skills seemed augmented. She could catch whispers, shadows of the thoughts around her. Bazzakra’s were of total confusion, a man trying to make sense out of too many horrifying factors.
Finally he shook his head and limited himself to a fervent, “The blood is well and truly flowing now.”
“Take me home, Baz. We’ll sort it out later.’
“If it can be,” Zabb offered cheerfully.
Baz’s face closed down. There was regret in the blue eyes, but also contempt. He turned to Zabb. “You understand, my lord —”
“That I’m an impotent bastard without a pedigree, and I can never, ever, ever go home. Yes, I know” He crossed to Tachyon and lifted her hand. “Goodbye, Tis. I hope you have a safe delivery. Whether back into your own form, or into the exalted ranks of motherhood.”
He leaned in and gave her the kiss between relatives, first on the forehead, then the lips. She was too clumsy to elude the embrace, and the contact left her shivering, her stomach reduced to a tight knot. Tach dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.
The soldiers closed ranks around Baz and the three travelers, and they moved swiftly through the lock. Tach noticed the guards never turned their backs on the Viand. She was certainly home. It was depressing.
The ship was a small, quick passenger shuttle. Bred for boring, repetitive work, it lacked the wit and sparkle of a ship like Tachyon’s stolen Baby. But its thoughts were welcoming, and it extruded more benches to accommodate the newcomers.
They began the uncoupling procedure. Tach sagged on a bench and tried not to fall asleep. Tried to plan. Tried to shut out Illyana. Tried to stop wondering what color her child’s eyes would be.
It was an alien emotion, but as the lock cycled shut, Zabb felt a fist close around his chest. He forced aside the homesickness, the sense of abandonment, and counted down the seconds. Far enough, but not too far. What he was about to try was utterly, totally, completely insane, but it would be a death to be sung, and whether he succeeded or failed, he would be out of the hands of the Network. He was going home.
Zabb drew in three panting breaths through his mouth, sucked in a lungful of air, and, drawing his weapon, blew out the lock. Alarms began sounding, the edges of the rift secreting material as the station fought to heal itself and stop the hemorrhage. None of this really registered with Zabb. He kicked off hard, like a runner at the start of a race. Across the floor of the docking bay. The mad sprint was burning air, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed the inertia. The outer hull lock was slowly shuttering closed.
Zabb hit the edge of the bay and jumped. The abrupt loss of gravity set his stomach rolling. He focused on the gray, rough hull of the Takisian shuttle to ease the nausea. He measured his progress toward that surface against his remaining air. The calculations were not encouraging.
Tachyon was jerked awake by the ship.
Master, an explosion has breached the integrity of the platform. Should I recouple?
No! On visual.
The ship obligingly offered them a view of the slowly retreating docking bay. Where the lock had been, there was a ragged hole. Tachyon lurched to her feet as she spotted the small figure in Network mufti diving slowly after the departing ship.
“Jesus Christ,” Jay breathed. “He’ll never make it.”
“No,” Mark said. “Inertia will carry him. If he can hold his breath long enough.”
The Viand were firing now, using their newly purchased weapons. They were lousy shots. High energy beams pulsing through the bay, light claws scratching at the fabric of space. Nothing came even close to Zabb.
“Motherless mudcrawlers! Fire on my ship! On a Takisian! Return fire!” Baz ordered.
Lasers lashed from the ship, and one of the Viand went down. Its pouch convulsed wildly, and the worm crawled free. There was an audible thump as Zabb hit the side of the ship.
Tach clutched Baz’s arm. “Don’t let him in.”
She “heard” Zabb’s preemptory command to the ship. Its acquiescence. Admiration for Zabb and a desire to obey Tachyon warred on Baz’s face. His hesitation made the decision for him. There was no time to countermand the order to the ship. The inner door flowered open, and Zabb tottered through. Collapsed.
Baz issued a telepathic command, and the ship leapt like a startled cat. Front heavy and awkward, Tach teetered, staggered backward. The bench caught her in the back of the knees, and she sprawled.
“Remember all that blood that was going to start flowing?” she said bitterly. “Well, it certainly will now. And it’s all going to be mine.”
Baz ignored her. In fact they all ignored her. Mark dropped to his knees beside the prone man and rolled him onto his back. Baz moved for a first-aid kit while Jay watched with bemused fascination. It was as piping female tones had no power to penetrate, the words held no meaning.
Regaining her feet, Tach walked over and stared down at the unconscious man. Zabb’s face was a brilliant red from burst capillaries. Blood flowed sluggishly from nose and ears. An array of complex emotions clawed at her — hate, fear, love, the memory of a childhood hero worship… admiration. She was still a Takisian, and not even four decades on an alien world could blunt her acceptance of that quintessential Takisian attitude known as virtu. To try to succeed brilliantly and flamboyantly. To try to fail brilliantly and flamboyantly. It was all the same to a psi lord, so long as his actions had an effect. This exploit would ring through the halls of the House Ilkazam. And all Tach had managed to do was get kidnapped and knocked up. She returned home a victim. Zabb a hero.
Baz administered an injection designed for just such mishaps — though normally such accidents occurred because of spacesuit failure. The compound was designed to carry oxygen more efficiently through the bloodstream. Seconds later the drug kicked in. Zabb shivered and began dragging in great, gasping lungfuls of air.
A moment later his eyes snapped open. He seemed confused, disoriented. Loudly he announced, “Consider the business relationship between the Network and myself to have been terminated.”
“A simple ‘I quit’ wouldn’t do?” muttered Jay. “Little drastic, I’d say.”
“How else do you renege on a lifetime contract except by running?” whispered Trips.
Baz assisted Zabb onto a bench. Tach leaned in, gathered the front of his Network uniform in both hands, and yanked him up until they were almost nose to nose.
“My sin was bringing the Network here in the first place.” She enunciated each word with exaggerated care, biting off the consonants as if they were enemies to be crushed between her teeth. “But you have compounded the transgression by ensuring that they shall never ever leave until we deliver your lifeless body to them.”
Zabb twisted his hand into her hair and pulled her even closer. “You’re welcome to try, cousin.”