Double Solitaire

  "Jesus, are we entertaining the army tonight?"

  Hastet pushed back a hanging strand of hair and left a pink smudge on her damp forehead. "I suppose I have you to thank for this." She didn't sound real happy.

  "What? What did I do?"

  "The House called yesterday. I'm to prepare desserts for Festival."

  "It is a great honor, genefemme," the young man said.

  There were a mountain of flaky cookies with pink icing. Jay snitched one. The sweetness of the frosting contrasted with the almost tart flavor of the dough. He snitched two more.

  "Shut up and stir," Hastet ordered. "No, better yet, go to Wan'se and buy me some more sithi beans. I'm almost out." The boy grabbed his coat and vanished, along with a cloud of steam, into the alley out back.

  Hastet caught Jay with his hand on the cookies, smacked him with her pastry gun, and decorated his shirt with green icing.

  "Thanks," Jay said. Scraping it off with a forefinger, he daubed it on her nose like war paint.

  "I won't be able to have a booth at Festival now. I'll be too damn tired," Hastet complained.

  "Nice of the lord and lady poobahs to let you guys party along with them. Even if you're not good enough to go to the big polar hop."

  "I wouldn't want to be there. We have more fun here." She had these incredibly serious eyes, and when she turned them on him, Jay felt as if it were X-ray vision to the soul.

  "Is that meant to be an invitation?" Jay asked.

  She turned away and stirred sauce. "I would like it."

  He took the whisk away from her and put his arms around her. She let him, and he felt as if someone had opened a bottle of champagne in the center of his chest. "I'd like it too." She glanced over at her cooking and gently freed herself from his arms. Jay perched on the marble pastry table. "So what's this party like?"

  "It's outdoors with lots of food and drink and music and dancing."

  "And cops and fights?" Jay suggested.

  Hastet looked at him oddly. "When we Takisians fight, we fight for real. People die."

  Jay remembered Hiram remarking, after a return from overseas, that the most violent cultures tended to have the most elaborate system of manners, the greatest degree of politeness; it was a way to keep the violence in check. Takisians seemed to be no exception.

  "And besides, this is Festival," Hastet added.

  "Yeah, I've heard too much about how peaceful everybody is at Festival."

  Hastet resumed her cooking. She had an ability, rare in many women, to be perfectly comfortable with silence. Jay ate cookies and watched as the elaborate confection took shape. And slowly a plan also began to take shape.

  "How's all this stuff getting to the pole?" Jay asked.

  "Servants from the House will pick it up tomorrow."

  "So it goes in a day ahead of time?"

  "Yes."

  "Waiters, bus boys, too?"

  "No, Tarhiji are not permitted. The Zal'hma at' Irg serve themselves at Festival."

  "Do they use living ships?"

  "Only to tow the freight barges."

  "And who unloads once they reach the pole?"

  "Tarhiji who have ridden with the foodstuffs. Why?" she asked suddenly suspicious.

  "I just figured out how to crash that party."

  "Not in my desserts you're not."

  "Let's talk about it." And he drew her arm gently through his.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Twelve thousand years ago (or so legend had it) all the families had banded together to build Festival Hall on the edge of the polar continent. The Crossing Festival was always held on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, to symbolize the blackness of space as the Takisians made their crossing and emerged into the sunlight of the Crystal World. It was the only time when for a brief count of hours the ruling families of Takis set aside rivalry, plots, and murder and celebrated together.

  Everyone attended Festival. The old (not too many of those in a psi lord family), the infirm, the very young (there seemed to be about twenty million crying babies in this shuttle), and everyone in between. But no guards. The Tarhiji were not permitted at Festival.

  "Perfect time to drop a tactical nuke," Jay had remarked to Trips as he watched the tailor fit the lanky ace for the Festival. Mark couldn't remember what he'd said. Maybe nothing. There really wasn't anything to say when Jay was on the prod.

  Mark sighed and wished the detective were here now, but Jay was a mere guard, not adopted, not one of the family like Mark. Maybe that was what had made him so crabby, and why he'd vanished for a day. Probably pissed. If Jay was regretting missing the party, Mark would cheerfully have changed places with him. The ace didn't want to see Blaise -- too many bad memories. And speaking of memories, how the hell is the Doc going to handle this? wondered Mark.

  She was in her usual position -- head averted from the women and children, gazing out the portal. Or was the port only an illusion projected by the living ship? Trips had never quite worked that out.

  This late in the pregnancy Tisianne's face had grown puffy, but overall she looked pretty good. Her maid had dressed her hair in an elaborate upswept style that made her seem older and far more regal. The dress wasn't so good. Its bizarre color combinations were shocking to human sensibilities, and the cut was designed to accentuate rather than minimize the belly. Then there was the bare neckline screaming for jewelry, but Tis had remained adamant and refused to wear her mother's jewels. Mark foresaw an unpleasant scene with Zabb.

  Mark sidled over to her. Peered out the port. It was a tight fit, and their cheeks brushed. Heat rolled off her skin. Worried, he laid a hand on her forehead.

  She brushed it aside. "Nerves. I've always had the power to make myself sick. Maybe someday I'll do it up really right and end up dead."

  There was nothing to say to that. They returned to their contemplation of dark water, icebergs, and ice floes. What had seemed a puzzling white line on the horizon resolved itself into a wall of ice several hundred feet high. The sea battered against those crystal ramparts -- white spume and white ice. Occasionally the patient chew of the water broke free a chunk of ice the size of a train car. The roar of falling ice seemed like a cry of despair while the ocean boomed in triumph. And then the patient millennium-long dance began again.

  Tis jerked her chin, and Trips saw it. Building seemed too mundane. Palace was incorrect since this structure stood empty all year long except for this one night. Victorian absurdity, was the best he could do. And enormous! It appeared to be constructed entirely of glass. Probably some sort of high tensile plastic to be able to resist the polar storms, Mark amended, and he was damned if he knew what held it up. There were no struts in evidence, no obvious bearing walls.

  The arrival time seemed to be inviolable. As the Ilkazam ships, flying in tight and elegant formation, dived toward the hail, Mark saw other brilliantly lit ships also sweeping in. There was a sense of show-off in the formations the ships assumed as they landed, and then it struck him -- this wasn't at the bidding of their masters, this was pure ship vanity.

  Tis slumped back. "No Baby. They would be too afraid she'd bolt. Ideal, I'd probably bolt with her."

  "You can't give up, Doc." He laid a tentative, comforting hand on her shoulder.

  "I should have agreed to Jay's scheme," she said, and her expression was as bleak as the landscape.

  The hours had passed in surprising comfort. Food was certainly not a problem, and Jay hadn't even had to sleep on the floor. This glass cat house came equipped with everything. It was an easy guess what the secluded little rooms containing only beds were for, but Jay didn't think his performance would be too hot. He'd be too aware of those transparent walls. Further snooping revealed game rooms with decks of cards and score pads at the ready. There were board games of indeterminate goals. Holographic video games. A nursery filled with cribs and toys for children.

  A long ramp led deep into the polar ice, and to a great room carved entirely out of
that same ice. There was a skating rink. And a track. Jay wondered what ran on it. Then he found the stalls, and he and some critter that looked like a cross between a giraffe, an impala, and a horse scared the bejesus out of each other. As he stumbled back, the detective wondered what kind of people would pack up food for seventy thousand, their kids, and their animals, and take an evening stroll to the pole? The closest analogy he could think of was the Super Bowl.

  For the Takisians, though, the big event wasn't sport, it was dance. The central focus of the great building was the ballroom. The floor was black, and twinkling in its depths were thousands of tiny lights. As he stared at them, Jay realized they seemed to form a stellar map. Spiraling out of the floor like coiling smoke were crystal pillars -- clear, amethyst, blue, topaz -- frozen jewels or flowers, Jay couldn't decide which.

  On a high podium rested the orchestra's instruments. Jay walked up the stairs and softly touched the strings of a harp. The single note shivered in the air. Jay thrust his hands behind his back and, though he was not a fanciful man, felt as if he'd stumbled into a fairy tale. It was eerie. The instruments laid aside as if the orchestra had only paused for a break, the plates and cups arranged and waiting on the buffet, the food steaming softly, and there was not a soul in the place.

  "Just one lost little soul," Jay said aloud.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud boom. Jay knew that sound. Something large and very fast had hit the speed of sound. The party was about to begin. He flexed his right forefinger several times like a man checking the action of his pistol and went in search of a hiding place.

  "Killed them all." Gabru, Raiyis of House Ss'ang, sighed. He shook his harlequin head. Each contrasting strand of hair had been separated from the rest, lacquered, and swept up, until they resembled knife blades thrusting out from the skull.

  "There are only a handful of women left from the entire House," Ruek, Raiyis of House Alaa, said.

  "A tragic loss," offered Hazzal, ruler of House Jeban. "Rodaleh had a very powerful strain of psi healers. We're going to see a lot more insanity with the loss of this gift."

  "All the insanity we could ever imagine has arrived and is dancing," grunted Gabru. All the men turned to watch Blaise.

  Zabb didn't offer an opinion or a comment on the topic under discussion. Instead he just watched that tall black-clad figure and calculated. Sooner or later he would face this young man in combat, and he would glean what he could of Blaise's psychology in the thirteen hours available to him.

  The bounce/cast hadn't fully captured the sheer size of the half-breed. Zabb was accounted a giant among the Takisians. He was dwarfed by Blaise. It made him uncomfortable. He had a sudden vision of Tisianne naked and tiny beneath the brute force of that massive body. Stomach acid climbed up his throat.

  "Every Rodaleh Tarhiji soldier who participated in this outrage will have to be killed," grunted Zujj, the military commander of House Alaa.

  "I don't think terror is our most effective weapon right now," Zabb said softly. "We'll only play into the Abomination's hands."

  "We have to do something?" Quar'ande, military commander of Ss'ang, said.

  Taj arrived with Yimkin, the Raiyis of House Tandeh.

  "Agreed," Zabb said. "So what say we repair to a more private venue and discuss what that something should be?"

  Zabb dropped back and fell into step with Taj. Softly he asked, "Zaghloul?"

  Taj shook his head. "Khuechen brant Chuea is eagerly spreading jam with what he perceives as the winning side."

  "Mongrel," snapped the Raiyis.

  At the door to the gaming room Taj checked and looked up at Zabb. "Is it wise to leave Tisianne alone?"

  "She'll do well enough. She has her groundling Paladin."

  You remember how I told you I was going to give you another one just as soon as this one is born?" Blaise rubbed her belly like a man with a Ho Tai good-luck figure. Tis searched the crowd desperately for Mark, or Taj, or, ancestors help her, even Zabb. They were not in evidence. Tisianne ran through a desperate litany of her sisters' names. They failed to appear.

  Someone rescue me!

  Rescue yourself! another part of her snapped back.

  But she couldn't. She'd lost the knack for coherent speech.

  Blaise leaned in, hands propped on the arms of the chair, pinning her in place. "Well, I'm going to. They're all flocking to me. They saw what happened to Rodaleh. They don't want to be next. I'm coming for you, Granddad, closer every day."

  Fear has a taste, sharp and sour on the tongue. It's a driving pain deep in the gut. Steel fingers on the throat. The ballroom was lit only by the double moons, and the pattern of tiny lights in the floor. Cold, corpse light that deepened the hollows in Blaise's face, giving him a gargoyle's look. The sound of the revelers and the music of the orchestra faded to distant hummings. The only sound seemed to be her own harsh breaths.

  "But you haven't formally met Kelly." Blaise straightened just before she screamed. He gestured, and out of the crowd he came.

  All night Tisianne had avoided this, playing a little game with herself. Not looking for her body. Trying not to go mad from the wanting. Now it was coming, jerking forward with a marionette's stiff gait. Mind controlled!... Just to show me he can do it.

  Her body did not look well. Shadows beneath the lavender eyes. Skin a little too white, a little too pasty. A thin sheen of sweat on the upper lip. And a developing paunch. She wanted to beat the girl for so abusing her dwelling place. Then she correctly interpreted Kelly's expression as he gazed at her body, now eight months pregnant.

  Neither one of us has done such a good job as renters, thought Tis.

  "Kelly Jenkins, meet my granddad." The manic grin deepened. "Meet your baby. No, our baby. Don't you love these family gatherings?"

  she/lovesonly/you, doesn'tknow/me/at/all.

  The communication of the slaves, conducted beneath the twitching nose of the overseer. Kelly and Tis stared at each other. Their telepathy blended, coalesced; linked as one mind, they explored the mind of their child. And all the bitterness melted away.

  Illyana, meet your mother, sent Tisianne.

  Total confusion from the baby.

  Indulgent chuckles from the parents.

  "Hey, bug out, man!" Mark's sharp tones jerked Tis from her mind dance.

  Tis recognized Zabb's quick step approaching from behind her. Zabb's gaze coolly raked Blaise from the top of his head to the soles of his feet and back again.

  "While it is forbidden for us to kill you tonight, we're certainly not required to endure either your company or your conversation." Zabb turned back to Tisianne. "Cousin, will you walk with me?" He held out a hand and assisted her from the chair.

  Blaise smiled, bowed with practiced ease, but his glittering eyes promised payback -- real soon. He grabbed Kelly by the elbow and dragged him away.

  The trio watched Blaise move away. Tis realized she was shaking. She realized that the warm grip of Zabb's fingers around hers was comforting. She glanced up at him in confusion. He was frowning after Blaise.

  "Some gentlemen and I require your expert advice." Zabb looked to Mark. "Will you trust her with me for a few minutes?"

  "If the Doc says it's okay." Mark looked down at her. Tis nodded.

  In two hundred and two years of living, how many Crossing Festivals had he attended? Probably one hundred and ninety-seven of them, though his earliest memories didn't begin until around age four. At that particular festival, he and Nandi had discovered that the punch tasted truly wonderful. They had retreated to a staircase and downed glass after glass of the sweet golden beverage. Later they discovered they couldn't stand. Giggling, they had clung to one another under the disapproving eye of Nandi's sister. That was the last Festival they had spent as comrades. By the next year she was old enough to know he was a Morakh, and she had learned to despise him.

  Durg moved down the refreshment table like a grazing bull. A tidbit from each tray, not bothering with a plate,
to the evident disapproval of the masters manning the buffet. The emotion was a little difficult to classify, but Durg knew that he enjoyed seeing them -- the Zal'hma at' Irg -- providing the music, filling the glasses, cooking and serving the food. If they were going to party without their faithful servants, they had to pay the price.

  "Why did you do it, man?" The sad tones of Mark Meadows shattered his reverie.

  Durg took his time, selected and chewed down another sandwich before he turned to face the tall ace. And his answer when it came wasn't a direct response. "Do you realize that this room is littered with my former masters?"

  "Doesn't say much for your loyalty."

  "Or theirs. My switch in allegiance always seems to stem from abandonment. The Vayawand left me and a half dozen other children on a roadside when Zabb attacked. I transferred my loyalty to Lord Zabb. My lord deserted me among primitives on an alien world after my defeat by Isis Moonchild. I transferred my loyalty to Lady Moonchild. Then Moonchild abandoned me -- once again on a roadside. Synergy having been achieved, perhaps that will be my last abandonment."

  The blue eyes were suspiciously moist behind the thick lenses of his glasses. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't realize. I wanted you to have a chance to be free. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

  "That's the difference between them" -- a jerk of the head to indicate the celebrating Takisians -- "and you. They are never sorry. And their way is better. You expect nothing... you receive nothing... you are never disappointed."

  Jay was not finding this as easy as he'd hoped. He hadn't fully absorbed just how many people were going to attend, and finding two people out of thousands was a daunting task. Blaise was going to be relatively easy; he'd be taller than all the Takisians present, and if he continued his pattern, he'd be dressed all in black. Jay remembered Hiram telling him how Tachyon would never wear black because that was the color for common laborers. Ergo it was a safe bet no Takisian was going to be wearing black. So now he just had to find the kid. As he surveyed the shifting crowds, Jay reflected that it was going to be like looking for a raisin in a bowl of fruit salad.