Melinda Snodgrass - Double solitaire

“Hell, if the crazy Takisians don’t kill me, the fucking pronouns will.” Jay unlimbered a hip flask and took a swig. Jay slapped the cap back onto the flask and thrust it back into his coat pocket. Sauntered over to Tachyon. “Okay, but I get time-and-a-half for other planets.”

Tach couldn’t find a phrase, a word, or an entire army of words crushing enough for the detective. Instead she spun on her heel and returned to Turtle. Laying her cheek against the cold metal shell, she whispered softly, “Goodbye, Tommy.”

“COME BACK.” Even through the distortion of the speakers she could hear his pain. Her throat ached in sympathy.

“I promise.” Whirling she half ran, half staggered through the deep sand until she stood face-to-face with Zabb. “I accept your terms, Trader Captain,” she said with great formality. It served to remind Zabb of his current status. The point was not lost upon the Takisian, but he merely indicated the ramp with his usual graceful courtesy.

“Then let us be off.”

At the foot of the ramp there was a paranoid little quadrille as Zabb tried to get Tachyon and the humans to precede him into the ship.

Tach glowered up at him. “I think not. I want you where I can see you.”

Zabb bowed. “My motivation exactly. You have a most alarmingly attractive derriere.” He shrugged and chuckled at Tach’s smoldering expression. “But pleasure postponed is pleasure savored.”

The quick rap of boot heels, and he was consumed in the brilliant light pouring through the open hatch. Tach drew a breath, squared her shoulders. Mark suddenly turned and waved cheerfully back at Turtle like a happy vacationer about to set sail on a cruise ship. Jay dropped his head briefly into his hand.

Then flanked by her two incongruous paladins, Tachyon entered the enemy ship.

They say the Morakh lack all mentatic skills, but there is a humming in the brain, a shivering along all the nerves, which tells a Morakh that dying is about to start. Durg was feeling it now. He signaled Blaise. There was a widening of the pupils, no more, to indicate he understood. Durg allowed himself a brief moment to hope that Blaise was finally learning subtlety.

Their current danger existed because of Blaise’s phenomenal oratorical skills. The boy had presented his plan for the domination of House Ilkazam. He had spoken as if addressing an auditorium of the Tarhiji, and even the psi lords had been affected. Now Blaise was a danger, and the time for betrayal had come.

L’gura was once more behind his desk. There were three other of the Zal’hma at’ Irg, and Malika, with him. Blaise was seated, facing L’gura. Kelly was on one side, Durg on the other.

“Your groundling ways have some interest, but I think we prefer to handle our affairs in the Takisian manner,” L’gura said.

Durg snapped his fingers, indicating Malika, and then petitioned the ancestors. The woman’s eyes widened in terror. She suddenly ripped her blade loose and, driving it deep into her belly, ripped upward.

Blaise released her and pounced on the shocked Vayawand. Had their defenses been fully in place, he would never have captured them, but they were in total shock – the mudcrawler had controlled a Morakh. Then the three nobles were down, writhing on the floor, slowly suffocating. Durg flashed across the intervening space and yanked Malika’s pistol free, tossed it to Blaise. The boy snatched it out of the air, grabbed Kelly by the arm, jerked the smaller man onto his lap, and tangled the barrel of the gun in the red curls at the Takisian’s temple.

Grotesque choking sounds filled the office as the nobles’ autonomic functions shut down. L’gura stared placidly at the desperate men as they flopped like hooked fish. Dark blood from Malika’s gutted body was spreading across the floor. It touched the edge of the Raiyis’s shoe. He calmly moved his foot. Durg had to admire his sangfroid.

“Is this enough virtu for you? A sufficient demonstration of my value? Or am I still just a miserable mudcrawler?”

Blaise thrust Kelly off his lap and gave the older man a boot to hurry his trajectory toward the floor. Kelly fetched up almost nose to nose with one of the dying. The bogus Tachyon let out a whimper and scuttled away.

L’gura steepled bone white fingers before his mouth. “Enough. They’re too well-bred to waste.”

“Really? They look pretty useless to me. But have it your way.” Blaise released the three men from the killing grip of his mind control. During his desperate struggles one had ripped out several of the inset jewels that adorned his cheeks. Blood flowed sluggishly from the gouges.

“Welcome to my House, Blaise brant Gisele. I think you will prove to be a most excellent addition.”

Durg released a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding. The dice had fallen well. He was home.

“Oh Shit!”

The shout penetrated her nightmare-laced sleep and sent Tachyon rolling out of the narrow bunk and scuttling for cover. She was dragging some of her own with her – the light, yet warm black fabric that served as sheet, blanket, and comforter. Her eyes finally focused, and in quick, snapping images like a stuttering slide show, she took in the situation.

A chunk of wall had peeled back, and the head and thorax of a Kondikki worker wove hypnotically back and forth as the clusters of tiny eyes searched for the source of all the noise. The embedded ceiling lights reflected off the creature’s shiny greenish black chitinous exoskeleton.

Jay was backed against the fold-down table, and his wildcard trigger finger was coming to bear.

“Jay! No!” Tach screamed. And flung her blanket. It tangled about his arm and hand, there was a soft pop, and the blanket vanished. The Kondikki was, mercifully, still present.

“It belongs here,” Tach yelled.

“Not in my bedroom it doesn’t!” the ace shouted back.

“Look.” The alien, its segmented body wiggling like a child’s toy, was climbing the wall. “It’s just replacing a light.”

Jay followed her pointing finger and spotted the burned-out panel.

Legs suddenly gone weak, Jay dropped to the floor. “Shit.” He mopped sweat with the back of his hand. Tach crawled to him and wrapped her arms briefly about his shoulders, then scooted back out of reach.

“I’m sorry I should have warned you.”

“No kidding.” He drew in a breath, wiped his mouth. “Secret alien spies, UFOs, and now giant bugs. Is it too late to go home?”

“Way, way too late.”

The door slid open, and Trips entered, paused and blinked at the huddling tableau on the floor. The private investigator pointed. Head craned back, hands propped on his hips, Mark grinned up at the Kondikki, its flexible mouth tendrils busily replacing the light.

“Aren’t they cool? There are thousands of them, way smaller than that one, down at the end of the corridor.”

Jay combed his hair with his fingers. “I didn’t need to hear that. And no, I don’t want to see ’em.”

“Where did you send the blanket, Jay?” Tach asked sternly.

He looked sheepish. “When I don’t really have time to figure out a destination, I usually just go for the scoreboard at Yankee Stadium.”

Tach stared at him in growing fury. “You were going to pop a Kondikki worker to Yankee Stadium?”

“Hey, it’s in the Bronx. They’re used to big cockroaches up there.”

“Jay, you are my ace in the hole,” Tach said, accepting Mark’s offer of a hand up. “You must be more cautious about so frivolously using your power.”

“Frivolous! There was a giant bug in the room. And I don’t know why you’re sweating it – how far away from Earth are we?”

“Several light-years, I’m not sure.”