Melinda Snodgrass - Double solitaire

“You’re bargaining with me, Morakh. Are you sure you weren’t stranded among the Network vacu instead of mudcrawlers?”

“The question is… are you buying?”

L’gura stared at Durg for a long, long time. Durg knew the man was regretting the genetic manipulations that had left the Morakh completely opaque to even the most powerful telepath. When you were certain of your pet’s loyalty, it was not a problem. When you weren’t

Durg smiled inwardly but allowed no hint of his internal pleasure to show on his face.

“Three days for your half-breed.”

“That should be enough for him to prove his usefulness.”

“There will be no reprieve,” L’gura warned.

“As you say, Most Bred.”

And Durg bowed his way out of the office.

“We have little time,” Durg said softly to Blaise.

“Do it,” Blaise ordered, and Kelly closed his eyes and contacted Baby.

And the ship swallowed the Vayawand guard left on duty until the arrival of the House shuttle. Durg spared a moment to ponder the communication that had sprung up between the ship and the bogus Tachyon and regret it, but it was serving its purpose now, and soon Kelly would be separated from the other stolen female.

“I’ve bought you three days, but don’t trust it. Treachery is the great Takisian art form. They’ll try to kill you before the deadline and take Kelly for themselves.”

“So I’ll jump this L’gura guy -”

“No! We save that.”

“So how the fuck do I convince this guy not to croak me?” Blaise paced a few nervous steps away, and back again. “I knew we shouldn’t have come here.”

“You are an abortion, afterbirth, the most filthy thing they can imagine. Which means they will underestimate you. I will select the target and upon my command use your mind control. Strike when they are unaware. Kill them quickly.”

Durg had already selected the target – Malika, the Morakh guard. Perhaps it was a quirk of Blaise’s madness coupled with his freakish mind-control power, but the young man had found the key to a Morakh’s mind. At their first encounter Durg had repelled the mental attack, but Blaise had come close to scratching the surface of that opaque mind. Months of practice had provided Blaise with the secret. Now all their lives depended upon whether the knack would translate from Morakh to Morakh.

The boy’s shrill objection pulled Durg back. “And then they’ll kill me!”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Are you brave enough to risk the roll of those dice?”

The young man stared down into Durg’s eyes. There was fear there, and Durg remembered Blaise was only sixteen. But House Tandeh had been founded by just such a “boy.” Then that wild, fearsome smile touched Blaise’s lips, and Durg felt something akin to a chill pass down his spine.

“What the hell. I’ve always been lucky.”

“The greatest danger in Vayawand lies in the fact that the revolutionary energy of the masses will be dissipated in spurts, in isolated explosions. Our task as the founders of the Committee of Action consists of unifying the masses and investing them with the greatest possible force. With that titanic power behind us we will sweep to power, not only in Vaya, but across the whole of the planet.”

The Most Bred and the Tarhiji (Kelly had discovered that meant the mind-blind bulk of the population) servants – sat enthralled. Kelly stifled a yawn. One servant let out a small hiccup of sound, an aborted cheer. He was quickly shushed, but then Sekal leapt to his feet and lifted his wineglass to Blaise.

“It is wonderful! It is… brilliant, it is… it is…”

“But what does it mean?”

It was a soft and languid voice, and it belonged to an extremely elderly, extremely precious nobleman by the name of Bat’tam. From the moment of their arrival he had been a constant visitor at their suite, but the attraction wasn’t Blaise. In fact, this was the first time Bat’tam had ever addressed a word to the young man. No, Bat’tam came for Kelly – or rather to lust after the flesh that Kelly currently inhabited. It made Kelly crazy

Blaise stared down into Bat’tam’s sagging, wrinkled face. “What does it mean?” the young man repeated softly. His purple black eyes swept the dinner table, and the now-silent nobles. “It means I shall make you the rulers of Vayawand… and the conquerors of Takis.” And then he began to sing in a rich baritone.

The sound drowned out Bat’tam’s plaintive query of “How?”

“Arise, ye prisoners of Vayawand! Arise, ye wretched of Takis, for justice thunders condemnation, a better world’s in birth. No more tradition’s chains shall bind us, arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall! Takis shall rise on new foundations, we have been naught, we shall be all!”

The tune was stirring, the words simple. Several of the nobles, and a few of the Tarhiji servants, tried it out on the chorus. Durg slipped down the table refilling wineglasses. Bat’tam lifted his and then locked eyes with the Morakh.

“I hope your master can fight as well as he can talk,” Bat’tam said.

Durg blinked slowly several times, then finally said, “He doesn’t need to. This battle’s already won.”

A small avalanche of white gypsum sand heralded Mark’s return.

“No sign of the army.” He slapped energetically at his pants legs, and sand hopped like terrified fleas from the material.

“What a relief,” Jay said. “I was sure worried that a bunch of jeeps and tanks and helicopters were gonna come sneaking up on us.”

Mark’s face crumpled.

“POPINJAY,” boomed Turtle through the speakers set into his shell. “IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE AN ASSHOLE, WHY DON’T YOU JUST CLIMB BACK IN THAT RENTAL CAR AND LEAVE?”

“Because I want to see the spaceship. And don’t call me Popinjay, damn it.”

“They’re metal. They’re not beautiful like our ships,” Tach murmured, speaking almost more to herself than her companions.

Mark knelt and began rooting through the luggage. There wasn’t much. While Jay had gone to rent a car Mark and Tach had bought a few changes of clothing in Alamogordo, New Mexico. Tach had also added a deck of cards and a traveling Scrabble set to her meager belongings. Mark and Tommy were so excited about this journey that Tach hadn’t had the heart to tell them how stone-cold boring space travel could be.

The snap of the latches was loud in the desert darkness. Flicking on a pocket flashlight, the tall ace once again surveyed his stash of powders.

“They haven’t changed since the last time you checked – four hours ago,” Jay said.

Mark rocked back to squat on his heels. “I know. I just keep wishing I could have made more. I’ve got four of everybody. That’s it.”

“Mark, we have pharmaceuticals on my planet,” Tach reminded him.

“Yeah, but it’ll take time to get the proper chemical equivalents, and if things get hot, we may not have it.” He shook his head and shut the case.

“Well, let’s just hope the Network baggage handlers didn’t train at Tomlin International,” Jay said. “Otherwise your dope is history.”

Mark grinned. “I think this qualifies as carryon.”

Tach was listening with perhaps half an ear to the humans’ conversation. Mostly she scanned the explosion of light that was the Milky Way. A star dislodged itself from its fellows and began a slow arcing fall toward Earth.

“There, Mr. Ackroyd, there’s your spaceship.”

Jay frowned up the line of her arm. “Uh-uh, shooting star.”

“Spaceship.”

The star continued its descent. Jay gnawed at his lower lip. “Okay, airplane then.”

“JESUS, ACKROYD,” Turtle said. “YOU SOUND LIKE A UFO DEBUNKER. IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE THERE’S GOING TO BE A SPACESHIP, WHY ARE WE ALL STANDING AROUND FREEZING OUR BUTTS IN THE DESERT?”