Ace In The Hole

8:00 P.M.

A knot of people at the main entrance to the Marriott reared back in alarm as the Turtle settled onto the sidewalk. Blaise drummed on the side of the shell with his heels as he slid off: Tachyon gave the shell a fond pat before he climbed down. "Thank you, Turtle, for a lovely afternoon. It's an elegant city when seen from above."

"Any time, Tachy." The shell floated away. "Dr. Tachyon."

The alien turned at that smooth, well-modulated voice with its strong Southern accent. "Reverend Barnett."

They had never met, yet recognition was instantaneous. They stood on the steps of the Marriott, devouring one another's faces, searching for the key to the character of the other man. Leo Barnett was a young man of medium height, blond hair, blue eyes, a dimpled chin. It was a nice face, and for an instant the Takisian struggled to reconcile the hated image of his dreams with this soft-spoken man. Then he recalled the exquisite faces of his kith and kin-all of them murdering thugs-and the moment of dislocation passed.

"Doctor, didn't anyone ever tell you that there are some things we don't do in the streets because it alarms the children and frightens the horses?"

Humor laced the words and Tachyon, who had tensed for an attack, relaxed. "Reverend, I've been on Earth longer than you've been alive, and I don't believe I've ever heard that expression."

A woman stepped out of the crowd surrounding Barnett. "It generally refers to sex, and you know all about that." Shoulder-length sable hair, cascading onto her breast, long sooty lashes fluttering on alabaster cheeks, lashes lifting to reveal eyes of a profound midnight blue…

No, brown!

Reality shifted like a cable car being wrenched off its track. Tach's breath seemed to be clogged somewhere between diaphragm and throat. He tottered, groping for Blaise's shoulder, and Leo Barnett leaped forward to support him on the other side.

"Doctor, are you all right?"

"I've seen a ghost," Tach murmured thickly. The faintness was passing, and he lifted his eyes to hers.

"My campaign manager, Fleur van Renssaeler," said Barnett with a nervous glance to the woman.

"I know," said Tachyon.

"You're very quick, Doctor." Her opening words had been aggressive, now bitter sarcasm laced each syllable.

"You bear your mother's face…" He quailed slightly under blazing anger in those brown eyes. "But her eyes were blue."

"What an extraordinary memory you have."

"There is not a detail of your mother's face that I have forgotten."

"Am I supposed to be pleased by that?"

"I hope so. I am inordinately pleased to see you. Every week for almost two years we played." He laughed gently. "I recall you were dreadfully fond of that horrid sticky candy corn. My pockets would be gummy for days afterward."

`You never came to our house. My father wouldn't permit it.

Tach felt his jaw sag. "But I mind-controlled the servants. Your mother wanted to see you so desperately-"

"My mother was a damn slut. She abandoned my father and her children for you."

"No, that's not true. Your father threw her out of the house."

"Because she was whoring with you!" Fleur's hand lashed out, snapping his head around with the force of the blow. Tentatively he touched his burning cheek, started to advance on her. "No-"

Barnett laid a hand on Tachyon's shoulder. "Doctor, this conversation is obviously upsetting both you and Miss van Renssaeler. I think we should move along."

The minister held out his hand to Fleur. Her lips seemed slack, and somehow heavier. An aura of sex surrounded her. Barnett handed her into the taxi as if he were eager to release her.

"Perhaps sometime we can talk again, Doctor. I confess I'm very curious about the religious beliefs of your world. " Leo paused with a hand on the taxi door. "Are you a Christian, Doctor?"

"No."

"We should talk."

The entourage was whisked away, Tach staring blankly after the taxi containing Fleur.

"What, by the Ideal, was that all about?" The Takisian phrase spoken in Blaise's heavily accented English added to Tachyon's sense of disorientation.

Tach pressed steepled fingers to his lips. "Oh, ancestors." He wrapped his arm tightly about Blaise's shoulders. "1947."

"No kidding? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Watch your language."

They started into the hotel and Blaise asked, "K'ijdad, who is the old femme?"

"She's not old… a little older than her mother when I lost her. And you've got to stop using French and Takisian in the same sentence. It drives me mad."

"Tell me this story," the boy demanded.

Tachyon's eyes flickered from the elevators to the bar. "I need a drink."

The pianist was on duty tinkling out a jazzed-up version of "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes."

"Brandy," the alien snapped to a waitress as he passed. "Beer." Blaise drooped under a gimlet stare from his grandsire. "Coke," he amended in a subdued tone.

They sat in silence until the drinks were delivered, and Tachyon had a long swallow. "It was only a few months after the release of the virus. Blythe had contracted the wild card, and was brought to the hospital where I was working. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I think I loved her from the first moment I saw her." Blaise rolled his eyes. "Well, I did," said Tachyon defensively.

"So what happened?"

"Blythe's power enabled her to absorb minds. Archibald Holmes recruited her for an antifascist organization called the Four Aces. Jack was a member, and Earl Sanderson, and David Harstein. Blythe became the repository for the minds of Einstein, Oppenheimer, and many many others, mine included. Meanwhile, Jack and Earl and David were flitting around the word overthrowing dictatorships, capturing Nazis and the like."

"Then in '48 they tried to resolve the China problem. David was the key to the negotiations because he possessed a powerful pheromone power. When you were with him he could get you to agree to anything. He had Mao and the Kuomintang kissing and swearing eternal friendship. Then he and the others left China, and naturally the whole thing collapsed."

Tach raised a finger for another brandy. "There was growing suspicion toward the wild cards during this period. A lot like today. China gave them the excuse they needed. They went after the Four Aces, accusing them of being communists. But it was just an excuse. Their real sin was that they were different-more than human. We were all called before the House Un-American Activities Committee. They wanted the names of all the aces I had treated. I refused, but then-" Tachyon took a long swallow of brandy. Somehow this story never got any easier.

"Go on," pushed Blaise, his dark eyes bright with excitement.

In a voice drained of all emotion, Tachyon resumed. "Jack had become a so-called `friendly witness.' He told the committee that Blythe had absorbed my mind, my memories."

"They put her on the stand and began to grill her. Because of the stress of juggling so many minds Blythe was… fragile. She was about to reveal the other aces. I could not allow that to happen. I controlled her, and so broke her mind. She became hopelessly insane, and her husband had her committed. She died in a sanatorium in 1954."

"Who was the husband?"

"A congressman from New York. There were also three children. Henry Jr. Brandon and Fleur. I lost track of them during the years I was roaming Europe."

"Which is when you met George."

"Yes."

"This is so confusing."

"You should have tried living it."

"So this is the ancient history you won't discuss whenever I ask you why you and Jack fight' so much."

"Yes. For years I blamed Jack for Blythe's destruction. Then I realized that I was the one who destroyed her. Jack was just one of a long line of contributing factors: my family for developing the virus in the first place, Archibald Holmes for i recruiting her, her husband for rejecting her, Jack for being weak, and humans for being venal."

Blaise sucked noisily through his straw, dragging up the last of the Coke. "Boy, this is really heavy, you know?"

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Fleur?" A shrug. "Yeah, I guess."

"I have to see her, Blaise. Explain, set the past straight. Have her forgive me."

"Why should you care?"

"Burning Sky, look at the time! I was supposed to meet the Texas delegation five minutes ago. Go buy some dinner, put it on the room, and stay out of trouble! I've got to change."

The phone was ringing as he entered the room. Snatching it up, Tachyon heard the hiss of long distance. An operator's cool, bored tone asked, "Will you accept a collect call from Mr. Thomas Downs?"

For an instant, disbelief at the journalist's brass held him silent, and Tach could hear faint and far away Digger babbling frantically. "Tachy, you gotta listen-"

"Sir, this call has not yet been accepted." Admonishment from the frigid operator.

"Tachy, listen! Something terr-"

"Sir!"

"… help me…"

"Sir, will you accept the charges?"

"… in big trouble!" Digger's voice soared into the soprano range.

"No!" Tachyon slammed down the phone so hard that it gave a ring of protest. He was halfway out of his shirt when it rang again.

"Collect call-"