George Martin - Jokertown Shuffle

A lighter, quicker step. The sounds of a struggle. "Stop it! Stop it!" the Tachyon voice shouting shrilly. Tach opened her eyes. Kelly was clinging to Blaise's shoulder, clawing at his face. All the gestures were oddly feminine, jarring to Tachyon. Blaise snarled, and gathering up Kelly's shirtfront, he proceeded to beat the crap out of the smaller man. Kelly's screams filled the room. He subsided into muffled sobbing, curled like a ball on the floor.

Blaise resumed his threatening advance. Tach watched the boy's foot draw back. She knew what was coming, and she managed to get her arms across her stomach before it happened. Her wrist took most of the kick, but even the residual force was enough to set her retching. Illyana's thoughts, pain, and fear were like the beating of wings in the confines of Tachyon's skull.

Blaise backed off, reached down, and hauled Kelly to his feet. They exited, leaving Tachyon with the dying guard. "I swear to you, by all that I am and ever shall be." The musical Takisian syllables rippled through the room and mingled hideously with the dying boy's moans. "By Blood and Line. You shall die. And by my hand."

Then and only then did Tachyon allow herself to faint.

The garret room had metamorphosed into a tower cell. Lancet windows, gray stone walls, a private prie-dieu-ironic considering she wasn't Christian-a curtained canopy bed… a romantic's vision of the Middle Ages.

And it irritated the shit out of her. This wasn't fantasy; this was deadly reality. And Tach was sick of the games. Her head seemed to be throbbing in time to her pulse, an outside pressure trying to warp and force the dream to fit his standards. Grimly, Tachyon fought back. What was achieved was a strange hermaphroditic compromise. Tachyon was male again, but pregnant.

Alien man gives birth to human child!

The ultimate tabloid headline, Tach thought, but then, we live in a tabloid nightmare. The wild card virus saw to that. We took order, peace, security… and gave them chaos.

Tachyon was braiding his-her hair. But it really was his-her hair. Metallic copper curls sliding between his-her fingers. Frowning, tip of the tongue peeking from between his-her lips, he-she concentrated, struggled. Suddenly other hands took over the chore. The deft pull, right over left over right, the tug to the scalp was heaven. Tachyon sighed and dropped his-her hands into his-her lap, cradling the curve of their pregnancy.

"You sent for me," said the Outcast. "Yes."

Tach shifted around to face him. The wide brim of his hat shadowed his eyes but could not match the darkness within those eyes. Tachyon took the Outcast's hand and laid the palm against his-her belly. "Feel her." And Tachyon gathered up his-her child's thought and thrust them into the mind of his-her courtly lover.

The Outcast reacted like a slaughterhouse steer seeing the fall of the hammer.

"She's going to die. I'm going to die… if you don't help us."

The man pulled his hand away as if the contact pained him. "I've tried… tried to help."

"Here?" Tach gestured. "Well, it's not enough. The time for dreams is over."

"It's difficult. He's very dangerous."

"I know…" Long pause, then Tach added with poisonous softness, "I'd wager… better than you."

The flush rode up in the Outcast's cheeks like a spill of blood. "How do you even know I can do anything?" There was a childish complaining note in the deep voice.

"I don't… and you'd probably like me to assume you're merely a symptom of incipient madness. That would let you off the hook. But you sent Peanut. He speaks of you with reverence. No, you exist. And now you have to find the courage to act."

The Outcast turned away. "There are so many… so many of them needing me-"

"And now there's one more," Tach interrupted. He-She touched her belly. "Her name is Illyana. I sing, and she thinks music back to me. She's a trickster because she knows there's one particular place where she kicks and I have to urinate. She knows it makes me mad, and it makes her giggle."

Tachyon could see the tension in her reluctant hero's back. The muscles in his neck formed corded rejection. "That's Illyana," Tachyon continued quietly. "And Blaise kicked me in the stomach. To him, she's just a parasite. A means to torture me. But I know better… she is my daughter… and I love her."

Tachyon rose. Made his ungainly way to the Outcast's side. Lightly touched the man on the back of the hand. "Don't let him kill her."

The man whirled, almost knocking Tach off his feet. "Would you kiss me?"

"What? Now?"

"Now… sometimes… always."

"Well… yes."

"You hesitated!" Accusation and suspicion made the words cut like blades.

"Of course. I don't know who you are. You don't know what I am."

"My love."

Tachyon covered his ears and spun awkwardly away. Fled until the width of the circular room lay between them. "Stop it, stop it, sTOP IT!" Panting breaths punctuated each word. "Why does no one know me? Am I always to be a symbol? The saint of Jokertown. The faggot from outer space. The Takisian. The drunkard, the prince, doctor, alien, lover, rival. And now your `love.' Well, dammit, why can't I just be." He was sobbing wildly.

The Outcast crossed the room in three long strides. Took Tach in his arms. Made soothing, shushing noises.

"A kiss," the Takisian murmured wearily as his sobs subsided. "Is that the price of freedom? Then you'll have it. I swear."

The dream was fading. Tach became aware of the sagging cot beneath her body, the pressure of an overfull bladder, the smell of the slops bucket, voices calling outside.

And fluttering through her consciousness like a fading memory, another voice. "You promised. Remember, you promised."

"Doctor. Doctor Tachyon, wake up."

Tach cranked up on an elbow. Pushed back her hair, tried to focus. "Peanut, by the Ideal…" The words died into silence as she stared at the joker protruding from the floor like a horny mushroom. Tach blinked and realized that the lower half of the man was beneath the level of a trapdoor-where there shouldn't be a trapdoor.

"Come quick. I'm gonna get you outta here."

The joker had a Coleman lantern hung over the stump of his arm. With his other hand he reached out to help her. As Peanut's chitinous fingers closed about her hand, Tachyon felt a thrill as great as if it had been the touch of a lover. Free, free-she was almost free.

"It's a long ladder. Can you make it?"

"Not easily," said Tach as her stomach rubbed at a rung. "But I'll manage," she concluded grimly.

"Can you close the trap?"

She stretched, grasped the edge, pulled. It fell with a dull thump. Peanut's terror was palpable in the confined space.

"Sorry," said Tach. "It was heavier than I thought."

"That's okay, but let's hurry"

They began climbing.

"Can you go a little faster?" Peanut asked after several minutes.

"No. I'm a little awkward right now. And a little scared," she added.

"Don't worry, Doctor. I won't let you fall. And anyway, you'd land on me."

"And then where would I be?" She smiled back and down over her shoulder. "You're my guide, Peanut."

At last they reached bottom, and Tach found herself in a cavern. Seven openings debouched into the vaultlike room. Tach pivoted slowly, staring in wonder at the colorful painted glyphs that rioted on the curving walls. Somewhat reminiscent of Mayan art, they also partook of Balinese temple paintings.

"Blood and Line, this is very strange," Tach murmured. "Pardon?" said Peanut politely.

"Nothing… hysteria… relief," Tach quickly added at the joker's look of alarm. "But this can't be real… can it?"

"It is. He's had me down here exploring them. They go all over. Weird places, but okay places too."_

Peanut headed toward one of the openings. Tach fell in step with him.