Melinda Snodgrass - Double solitaire

“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.”