George Martin - Aces High

"That wasn't what I was thinking about."

"You should be."

There was something in the moment, the set of Zabb's shoulders, or perhaps the indulgent cock to his head, that made Tach remember an earlier time… before family politics had intruded, before he understood the whispers linking Zabb's mother to the death of his mother, before… A time when a five-year-old Tach had adored his glamorous older cousin.

" I was remembering that you gave me my first puppy. From that litter old Th'shula had."

"Don't, Tis. That's dead and past."

"Like I'm going to be?"

Their eyes met, gray to lilac. Tach's fell first.

"Yes." One fine, manicured hand was brushing nervously at his full mustache and sideburns. "I intend to kill you before we reach Takis." Zabb's tone was conversational.

"I don't want the family. I want to stay on Earth."

"That doesn't matter. As long as you live I can't have it."

"And the humans?"

"They're laboratory animals. Useful if we're to move to the second stage." He turned to leave.

"Zabb, what happened?"

His cousin's shoulders hunched, then relaxed back into their military erectness. "You lived to maturity." The door whispered closed behind him.

Tom and Asta started as the two men entered, dragging between them a sprawling, gangling form in a purple Uncle Sam suit. The younger man dropped to one knee, riffled quickly through the hippie's voluminous coat pockets, and pulled out a small vial filled with a silver-shot blue powder. The elder accepted the bottle, uncapped it, and sniffed curiously at the contents. One eyebrow quirked up.

"This one was with Tisianne?" he said in English. "Yes, Rabdan."

"And they seemed friendly?" His pale eyes shot to Tom.

"Y-yes. "

"This is a drug of some sort. And too much of a drug can cause terrible effects. I certainly hope my esteemed cousin is conversant with the treatment of an overdose. Otherwise his friend might die." Another secret, catlike glance to Tom.

His companion's fingers pressed quickly at his lips, then he hesitantly said, "Shouldn't we ask Zabb?"

"Nonsense, he won't care what happens to a human friend of Tisianne's."

Kneeling, he poured the contents of the vial between the hippie's slack lips. Tom half rose, a protest on his lips, but a look from Rabdan dropped him back onto the bench. Everyone's eyes fastened on the scraggy figure on the floor; Asta with excitement, the tip of her tongue just showing between her lips; Tom with horror; the young Takisian with worry; and Rabdan with jovial good humor.

The man writhed, shifted, and for an instant everyone gaped as a blue-glowing figure rose majestically from the floor. Within his cowled cloak of deep-space darkness, his eyes were slits of white fire, and the lining of the cloak glittered with glowing stars, nebulas, galactic whorls. The Takisians leaped forward, clutching at air, as the exotic form sank quickly and cleanly through the floor.

Tachyon returned to his cabin, and sprawled on his belly on the bed, chin propped in his hands, and tried to decide what to do. His brief conversation with Zabb had indicated not only his danger, but the danger to the humans. It was clear they were to be experimental guinea pigs, Benaf'saj's remarks notwithstanding.

It hadn't taken long to identify the ship as Hellcat; his cousin's favorite and much-beloved vessel. So an attempt to take over the ship would be fruitless. There was no way he was going to handle this ship. He could still remember the day when the ship growers had called to say that his cousin's newest vessel had better be thrown back, so they could start again. She was wild, arrogant, utterly untrainable. That had been enough for Zabb. Even among the other families, who were notoriously stingy with their praise, he was known as the most brilliant ship trainer on the planet. And he couldn't resist a challenge. Nine-year-old Tisianne had been present with his father on the orbital training center. Zabb had entered the ship, the powerful grappler beams had been released, and the ship had gone haring off in the general direction of galactic center. No one had ever expected to see Zabb again, but two weeks later ship and man had coming limping home, and nothing could be more docile than Hellcat's demeanor when under the command of her conqueror. She was a one-man ship.

Rather the way Baby is with me, Tach thought defensively.

The point was, she couldn't be controlled by mere psi power alone. Still, she was a military vessel, which meant there were actual control consoles built into her hull so that if she should be badly injured, the crew might be able to nurse her home. But if he did attempt to take the ship using the consoles, she would merely disregard his orders, and yell for Zabb. And though he could handle Zabb in a one-on-one mental confrontation, there were nineteen other Takisians on this ship.

So what to do? Benaf'saj was clearly in command. And if she were to give the order to return Tachyon and the prisoners to Earth… H c rolled off the bed and went in search of his Kibr.

She was on the bridge glaring at Andami while Sedjur frowned down at a readout which Hellcat had obligingly projected onto the floor. The younger man was squirming.

"Would you be so kind as to explain to me why you administered an unknown substance to a prisoner?"

"It was Rabdan who did it," Andami said sulkily. "Then you are both lackwits-him for doing it, and you for permitting it. Now we have an alien creature of unknown abilities loose in the ship."

"He's. moving again," snapped Sedjur. "He's on level five. No, back to two. Now he's in your cabin."

Benafsaj's mouth twisted in disapproval.

"I don't know why everyone's so upset. Hellcat can tell us where he is."

"Because he moves through walls and floors, and by the time we reach a place he has moved again," the old woman explained with careful patience, as if speaking to a retarded child.

Tach stepped forward, trying to avoid drawing the attention of the threesome by the main port, gripped the back of an acceleration chair, and sent out a tiny thread. He had a gift for insinuating himself past shields, but Benaf'saj had had more than two thousand years to perfect hers. His mouth was dry and he could feel the pulse hammering in his throat as he slipped past the first barrier.

Second level. Trickier here. Traps built for the unwary to throw the infiltrator into never-ending mental loops until Benaf'saj saw fit to release them.

He chipped one of the shields, and quickly wove a ward to cover his error. It sat like a dancing snowflake in the midst of his Kibr's mind, smoothing over the ragged edge he had left. Past one more. How many levels did the old she-devil have? Brrrrrrang*********! He never even saw the blow coming. He tripped an alarm, a white-hot sheet rose up like a wave of fire, and crashed down. He felt like every synapse in his brain had been simultaneously fired, and his mind seemed to be rattling about in his skull like a rotting walnut in its shell. He realized he was sliding backward across the floor on his butt, his fingers scrabbling at Hellcat's pearly floor. He hit the wall, and the air went out of him in a rush.

Benaf'saj stared at him, amusement and irritation flicking across her face. He could feel the blood rushing into his thin cheeks.

"I had my shields up!" he announced throbbingly and irrationally. He was feeling terribly abused.

"Mind-control me, you silly boy. And you can't build a shield I can't break. I changed your diapers when you were a squalling brat! There's nothing I don't know about you!" She turned away, dismissal written in every line of her fragile body, and humiliation rose up to choke him. "Take him away," she threw over her shoulder to Sedjur. "And this time lock him in his cabin." The last command was directed to the ship. Stony-faced, Sedjur offered him a hand up, and escorted him back to his cabin. He hurried ahead, head down, shoulders hunched, feeling five. The old man left, and Tach helped himself to several liberal pulls from his silver hip flask. The brandy helped to steady his jangled nerves, but did nothing to promote his mental processes. He paced round and round the luxurious cabin trying to think of a plan; panicking when nothing suggested itself. Wondering what was loose in the ship. Wondering.