George Martin - Ace In The Hole

"Careful, you'll pull your IV out." Spector pointed to the tube that ended in a needle in the Takisian's arm. "I'm here for your help."

Tachyon shook his head in horror. "No. James, you mustn't. I can't allow it."

"Can't fucking allow it?" Spector kept his voice quiet, but there was no concealing the contempt. "If anybody deserves to die, it's Hartmann. I need you to mind-control some people and get me close. I'll do the rest."

"James, please," Tachyon still wouldn't meet his eyes. "I beg you

… don't do this. An autopsy… the scandal." Tachyon gathered himself before continuing. "They would run mad. Hunt down every wild card. Quarantine them."

Spector wasn't going to waste his breath arguing. He reached down, grabbed Tachyon's stump, and squeezed. He put a hand over the Takisians mouth to mule the scream. Tachyon bit into his palm, drawing blood. Spector let go. "Watch this, Doc." He held his hand in front of Tachyon's face and watched the wound close over.

"Ancestors," Tachyon gasped.

"Don't know everything about me after all, do you? Now show some guts for a fucking change. Do the autopsy yourself. Or mind-control the people who do. Use your goddamn power for something other than getting little hero-worshiping bitches to suck your alien weenie." Spector turned Tachyon loose and took a step back.

Tachyon shook his head. "You don't understand. Need rest. Peace." The little alien seemed on the edge of hysteria. "Only rest will be the peace of the grave."

It was the wrong thing for Tachyon to say and it pushed Spector over the edge. He slapped the alien hard, but not as hard as he wanted to. "You feel that? Well that's nothing compared to what I have to live with every minute of every day. For the rest of my life." Spector leaned in. "I killed a little girl once. Just to see her mother's face when she found her. And I thought of you." It was a lie, but Spector wanted to give the knife as many turns as he could. "If you don't help me, there'll be lots more. You owe me, Doc. Christ, what you did to me. You'll owe me forever."

"I'm sorry," Tachyon said, pulling the pillow over his head with his one good hand. "But I can't."

"I should have known." Spector got up and headed for the door, looked at the TV and stopped. Someone was interviewing the joker Secret Service guy who'd been in Tony's room.

"Then, all those on the podium during Senator Hartmann's acceptance speech will be wearing masks?" The reporter asking the question was standing as far away from Colin as he could.

The joker cleared his throat. "Yes, those are the senator's wishes. He feels it would make a certain statement to the American public."

"You, too?" the reporter asked.

"Yes, I've had occasion to wear them in the past." Colin looked like he wanted to take the reporter's head off. "Old habits die hard. And like most of us, I'm a creature of habit."

Tachyon groaned behind him, but Spector barely noticed. So, Tony had sold his boss on the mask idea. A group of masked people on stage was a whole new ball game. He might not even need the little creep.

Spector walked over and handed him the bedpan. "When I'm done with Hartmann, I'm coming after you."

He heard piss hitting the pan as he left the room. Spector laughed. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Tach lay on his side, the mangled arm propped on a pile of pillows. There was the strong smell of urine, and the sheets were damp beneath his hip. He had been shaking so hard that he had put most of his load in the bed. He tried to marshal his scattered thoughts.

Oh, Ideal, James Spector, the man who could literally kill with a look. I should have mind-controlled him… captured him. But I was scared.

He thought of what his father would have said to that admission. It would not have been kind. Princes in the House Ilkazam did not admit to fear.

James was going to kill Hartmann, and then there would be an autopsy, and then the world would end.

Too bad about Troll and Father Squid and Arachne and Spots and Video and Finn and Elmo-no, Elmo would miss the backlash against the wild cards. He was going to Attica for a murder he didn't commit, and Tach knew what they did to jokers in Attica. Too bad about all of them.

And him too.

Blaise was gone. Jail loomed ahead, for the investigation Hartmann had launched would live on after him. Didn't they still execute people for espionage? And I had to become an American citizen. But he would never see jail, Spector would kill him first.

He could always phone the Secret Service. Warn them about Spector. But then Hartmann becomes president. But was that so bad? I could monitor him, control him perhaps.

Stupid! He'll only kill me. He's tried already. He won't rest now until he succeeds.

But the wild cards would be safe.

No, too many people knew. Jay and Jack and Hiram, Digger, Sara, George, and Spector. Hartmann would try to have them all killed, and in self-defense they would speak.

And if the backlash would be horrendous now it would be unimaginable once the man was president.

I don't know what to do! Ideal, what should I do? Nothing. He was too tired. Too miserable. Too sick.

He closed his eyes, and grimly went searching for the anesthesia of sleep. The pain killers lay like a blurring fog across his mind, but the pain ate through them like acid.

"It's not so bad. It doesn't hurt so bad. It'll be all right." And-surprisingly-Tach agreed with the soft voice. He forced open gummy lids, and stared up into josh Davidson's face.

"Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Better now. I thought everyone had abandoned me."

"Sometimes people get reminded of the obligations and duties of friendship." Davidson's nose wrinkled at the sour odor of urine.

"I wet the bed," said Tach miserable and embarrassed.

"Then we should get the bed changed. Let me help you." Davidson lowered the rail, got an arm around Tachyon's waist, and a grip on the IV unit, and helped him into a chair. "Wait, I'll be right back."

He returned moments later with a nurse. She stripped and remade the bed. Davidson seemed impatient for her to leave. The door swung shut behind her. The actor seated himself across the small table, reached into his coat pocket, and took out a pocket chess set.

"I thought we might have a quick game." He palmed a pawn of each color, hid them behind his back, then offered two closed fists to Tachyon.

Tach started to reach out with his right hand. Both men froze and stared at the gauze-covered stump. "Left," Tachyon said.

Davidson's fingers uncurled, revealing a black pawn. "Here, wait, I'll set it up for you." There was a catch in the actor's mellifluous voice.

Davidson opened pawn to king-four. They played a few moves in silence. Then Tachyon looked up. "The Evans gambit. That's a very old-fashioned opening," he said, shifting slightly because the vinyl on the chair was sticking to his bare bottom. " I had a friend who always used that opening."

"Oh?"

"No one you would know."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He's gone now. Long gone. Like all the rest."

"Maybe not," said Davidson. Tach laid the tip of his left forefinger on the knight. "You don't want to do that. The bishop would be better," the actor murmured. The alien switched pieces, and…

"David! David! DavidDavidDavidDavidDavid."

The IV drip had ripped from his hand as he threw himself on the man opposite him. And his weakness betraved him. He could not keep his feet. David Harstein caught him beneath the armpits, and they huddled on the floor.

The tweed coat was rough against his skin. Catching on the stubble that littered his cheeks. He was wailing like a three-year-old, but he couldn't stop. David's hand was softly stroking his curly hair.

"Hush. It's all right now."