George Martin - Ace In The Hole

Spector turned to face Bob and stared into the man's eyes. They linked. Bob couldn't look away, and Spector didn't want to. The memory of his death blotted out everything else. And he gave it to the man in front of him. His insides twisted and burned. Skin ruptured and sloughed off. Muscles tore and bones snapped. Spector's death lived again in his mind. And Bob felt it, too. Spector shuddered as he recalled his heart bursting. Bob gasped. His legs went rubbery and he fell over. Dead. Just as Spector had been before Tachyon brought him back to life.

Spector glanced around. They were still alone. He grabbed Bob under the armpits and dragged him into one of the dressing booths, then walked back to the rack and picked out two gray suits. One dark and one light.

He wrapped them in plastic and headed for the street. "The customers always right, Bob. First rule of business."

"The problem with Jackson on the ticket is that it could cost us the election. Not to sound bigoted or nothin'"

"But you do," interrupted Tachyon. A frown of jovian proportions creased Bruce Jenkins's forehead. Since the only hair remaining to the man was a tiny ruff over each big red ear it looked as if his entire head was buckling like earthquaketorn Earth. "Not to suggest that you are," Tachyon hastened to add, realizing that Takisian tactlessness might not be in place at a political convention. "But why are we discussing thirdplace runners, no matter how interesting or charismatic? The real issue is Senator Hartmann and Leo Barnett."

"Reverend."

"Eh?"

"Reverend Barnett. You give Hartmann his title. Leo's deserving of his, too."

"Are we finally getting down to business, Mr. Jenkins?"

"Yeah. Texas went solidly for the Reverend."

"And you intend to keep it that way?"

"If I can. Now this ain't to say that Gregg Hartmann isn't a good man. He is, that's why I think a Barnett/Hartmann ticket might have some real strengths."

"Impossible!"

"Now, don't be so hasty. Politics is a lot like horse trading, Doctor. You can't be too rigid."

"Mr. Jenkins, if the issue is the triumph of the Democratic ticket in November, then a ticket headed by Leo Barnett would be a disaster. There are still enough people who would oppose a religious figure running this country. Besides, Barnett is a one-note candidate."

"No, sir, there you're wrong. You see him as a one-note candidate because you're obsessed with wild cards, but Leo speaks for a lot of simple Americans who are worried about the moral decay of this country."

They stepped out of the Bello Mondo restaurant. To their left came the clatter of cutlery on china as the journalists, hangers-on, and less wealthy delegates dined in the Marriott's coffee shop. Tachyon frowned up at the banners stretched across the dizzying expanse of the lobby atrium.

Heard the sharp tick of high heels. jumped and whirled as he felt cold fingers nuzzle up beneath his hair, touching the nape of his neck. Sara winced at the pressure of his hand around her fingers. Bright color flamed in each cheek, but it looked angry against the unnatural white of her skin.

"I came for a statement, and to see if I could help." Tachyon shook his head. "What?"

She reared back slightly, nostrils flaring. "Chrysalis."

"What about her?"

"She's dead." The flat tone snapped him around as surely as Fleur's slap. He took two quick steps, groping for support. His hand closed on the sharp point of Sara's shoulder. "Dead!"

"You mean you didn't know?"

"No… I… I've been busy. All day."

"Yeah." Her tone was bitter; then abruptly she dropped a gentle sympathetic mask over her pale features. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."

Jenkins tiptoed over. "Doctor, it seems you've had bad news. We'll talk another time."

Sara gripped Tachyon's arm with both hands and tugged him toward the elevators. "This has been a shock. You're very pale.! Maybe you should lie down."

"I need a drink."

Sara hung on grimly to his arm. "Don't you have something in your room?"

He frowned at her. "Yes."

"Let's… let's go there." Pale tongue running briefly across those too thin lips. "I… I need to talk to you." Physical vertigo added to his emotional vertigo as the elevator shot upward. "Chrysalis." He shook his head. "Tell me."

She did, in quick terse sentences, her pale eyes locked on his lilac ones. She seemed to be pressing for a mind contact, and he tightened his control. He didn't really want to know what went on behind that intense face.

He led them into the suite. Stood staring into the mirror over the wet bar, a hand closed limply about a brandy bottle. Mirrors. Chrysalis had loved mirrors, and had filled her boudoir with them.

He pictured the skull head with its trademark swirl of glitter on one transparent cheek. Pictured it battered to a bloody pulp. The tink of glass on glass was loud in the room.

He turned, and held out the glass, but Sara was gone. Hearing the squeak of a mattress, he walked into the bedroom, and stared in bewilderment at her pose. Elbows resting on the coverlet. One leg cocked over the other. Skirt hiked to mid-thigh. She accepted the drink, and coyly patted the bed next to her. Feeling like a man sharing a bench with a spider, he sank warily down.

"Secrets." He sighed and drank. "I suppose Chrysalis at last found the secret that killed her."

"Yes." Sara stared rigidly at the far wall. Gave a shake, and placed her hand on his arm. It lay there heavy and lifeless. "I know how much this must hurt you. You two were very close."

He removed her hand, squeezed it, and sat it aside. "I don't know if I would go that far."

The hand crept back, fingers tightening suddenly on the big muscle in his thigh. She began to rub him. Tach rolled a nervous eve in her direction. Sweat had broken along her hairline, and her lips were compressed into a thin line. She sensed his scrutiny, and smiled at him, eyelids half lowered, pouted her lips. Tachyon drained his glass. His leg muscle was beginning to cramp under her furious assault.

"Another?" He waved the glass. Throaty, husky. "Oh, yes. Please."

They sat drinking in silence. Tachyon felt his guts cramping. "I wonder-JESUS!"

He hit the edge of the bed, slid off onto the floor, brandy sloshing across his crotch. Thrust his little finger into his ear, and wiped out the moisture left by the sudden thrust of Sara's tongue. It had felt like someone driving a Q-tip dipped in icy Vaseline into his ear.

She hung over the bed staring down at him with feverbright eyes. Gasped out, "I want you! I want you!"

It was like getting hit with a rake. Bony knees, elbows, pelvis digging into his chest, groin, thighs as she flung herself upon him. They thrashed for a few moments, Sara dropping inexpert kisses onto whatever part of his anatomy she could hit. Tachyon threw her off, and tottered to the far side of the bed.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Tears of shame and rage filled his eyes.

"I want to make love with you."

"If this is some kind of joke, it is in pretty goddamn bad taste! Or actually, it's in perfect taste if you go in for cruel Takisian humor."

"What are you driveling about?" she screamed, raking back her hair.

"I'm impotent! Impotent! IMPOTENT!" "Still?" Honest amazement filled the word.

It shredded his last vestige of control. "Yes, fuck you! Now get out! Just get the hell out of here!"

Blotchy red patches flamed in her cheeks. Sara flung herself on his chest, hands clasped frenziedly behind his neck. "No, please, I cant leave you. I'm next, don't you see? Only you can keep me safe!"

"Are you out of your mind? Keep you safe from what?"

"Hartmann! HARTMANN! He killed Andi, he killed Chrysalis, and now he's going to kill me!"