How did they capture you?
It wasn’t very hard. They must have used mind control, because I just flew right to them.
What were you doing out, anyway? Tach said irritably, irrationally trying to shift the blame to Turtle.
I was bringing you a fucking bowling ball, I thought maybe you’d want to roll a few games, what the fuck do you think I was doing?
I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking, snapped Tach, his mental tone as surly as Turtle’s.
It was a fucking weird bowling ball, I took it off some street kids.
Where is it now?
They took it out of the shell, and placed it on a shelf in the room.
Which room, show me.
Turtle’s exasperation was like acid against his mind, but he obliged. And Tach really didn’t know why he was being so insistent about the device. Probably just something to divert him from their present predicament.
I’m debating about the feasibility of a breakout, he said after a long pause. Between your teke, my mind control, and the dagger my great-great niece Talli gave me, I think we might be able to pull it off. I’m glad you did not attempt to free yourself earlier.
I … can’t.
I beg your pardon?
I said, I can’t.
The years rolled back, and suddenly it was he, not Turtle, saying those words. He had stood shivering and crying on the steps of Jetboy’s tomb trying to explain that though he wanted to help, he just couldn’t. Turtle had hit him; the ace’s TK power lashing out like a great, invisible fist driving him down the stairs. But he didn’t want to hit Turtle, he just wanted to understand.
Why Turtle? Why can’t you?
I don’t have my shell. The Great and Powerful Turtle could make chopped liver of these pukes, but not me. I’m just plain old Tom— He jerked back, but the rest of the thought came clearly through to Tachyon.
Tom Tudbury.
Fortunately the name meant nothing to Tachyon. So Turtle’s secret identity was to all intents and purposes still intact.
It’s all right, he soothed. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. The plan would depend on us taking them out one by one, and the minute you ripped open the door Hellcat would scream for Zabb, and they’d be all over us. And even if we did succeed I’d be right back to the original dilemma—how to handle Hellcat.
Who?
The ship. She’s sentient.
Then, she must be a little startled, because there’s some guy floating around inside her.
You saw? What—
“YOU!” enunciated a voice, filling the word with all the throbbing outrage possible.
Tach’s eyes flew open, the concentration necessary to maintain so private a telepathic link completely lost. An eerie blue-glowing figure stood in the center of the cabin. Swiftly he rolled off the bed, the blade sliding down his sleeve and into his hand. He dropped into a knife-fighting pose, the blade and his free hand weaving an intricate and confusing pattern before him. From behind the barrier of his mental shields he put out a telepathic probe, and met a powerful mindblock.
“Oh, do put that away, you dreadful little man! You cannot harm me.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about. I’m a little more worried about your intentions toward me.”
The creature drew itself up, its strange eyes glittering like sparklers in the featureless face. “This is all your fault. I tried to keep that drug-soaked hippie from this outrageous course, but he was intractable, utterly intractable! Father to the aces, indeed. He has a perfectly good father who would never encourage him in this type of juvenescent irresponsibility. The world would have gone on very nicely indeed without your interference.
“It’s not enough that you should subject us to strange and unnatural alien substances, now you must needs bring your family in on us. A whole tribe of you! Our only hope is that they are as bumbling and ineffectual as you have shown yourself to be. First you lose the virus, then permit its release, help harry and harass your friends and lovers into prison, insane asylums, and—”
“SILENCE!” roared Tachyon. Oh, Blythe, he cried, and the thought acted like water on a fire, extinguishing his blazing anger, and leaving behind only a cold slimy mess of mud and ashes.
Still, his eruption seemed to have had an effect on his visitor. The man’s mouth pinched tightly closed, and he was pulling in sharp little breaths through narrowed nostrils. Then with supreme dignity he began to sink through the floor. For an instant Tachyon goggled, but only for an instant. This man could be useful, and he had stupidly driven him away. He prided himself on his astuteness, and on his ability to read and handle people. Now was the moment to test out just how real that ability was.
He rushed forward. “No, wait, I pray you, good sir. Do allow me to apologize for my rudeness and lack of manners.” The apparition paused, only his head and upper torso visible above the floor. “I haven’t had the honor of making your acquaintance. I am Dr. Tachyon.”
“Cosmic Traveler.”
“You must excuse me. I … I’ve been under rather a great deal of stress today. I was unattentive when you arrived, or I would have been aware from the beginning of your puissance.”
Traveler simpered, then an expression of Olympian calm and wisdom swept over his features. And Tachyon realized that he need not even struggle for subtlety. With this man even the most blatant of flattery would serve.
“Will you please stay? My mind is all in a whirl, and I feel certain that even a few moments of conversation with you would help.” Traveler graciously floated back out of the floor, and settled onto a chair. As he did so, the lines of his body became firmer and more well defined.
So, he can become substantial, mused Tachyon.
“You’ve seen the other prisoners?”
“Yes. When that pathetic moron Trips was taken to the cabin, I noticed a tubby little man in blue jeans and tee shirt, and a most strikingly beautiful young woman.” The tip of his tongue appeared from between his thin lips, moistened his upper lip, and disappeared.
“Where were you?”
“I was … present,” he said cagily. “Fortunately I was able to get free. I shudder to think what might have happened if one of those other bumptious fools had appeared. They have not the slightest concern for my well-being.” He glared at Tachyon, obviously including him in the statement.
Tach was rather at sea with all this talk of other persons, and drug-soaked hippies. Meadows perhaps? But at the moment he was less concerned with the metaphysical problems presented by Cosmic Traveler, and far more interested in his unique abilities.
“Traveler, I think with your help we can escape, and return to Earth.”
“Oh?” Suspicion laced the word.
“Go back to the cabin where Turtle and the Captain and the woman are being held—”
“The Captain is no longer there.”
“Eh?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh … yes … well, whatever. Anyway, go to the cabin, and tell them to stand ready. Then lead Zabb and his goons to the far end of the ship.” Tachyon cocked his head to the side, and contemplated his strange ally. “It would save time if you didn’t have to return here to report. Would you be willing to drop your mental block so I could remain in telepathic contact with you?”
“No! Allow some alien Peeping Tom into my head? It’s out of the question.”
Tachyon stared at him in exasperation. “I’m not particularly interested in what’s in your head. I’m interested in—”
The door lensed open, and Traveler went, sinking elegantly through the chair and the floor, still in a seated position. Zabb with five of his soldiers came tumbling into the room. Tach closed his mouth, and arranged his face into an expression of innocent interest.
“Where is he?” gritted Zabb.
Tach pointed a finger downward. “He went that way.”
Things were becoming increasingly confusing. First the hippie had disappeared, then the blue-glowing appar
ition had vanished and the Takisians had pelted off in hot, if somewhat disorganized, pursuit; then Tachyon had contacted him, and now he had broken off abruptly in the midst of their telepathic conversation. Tom kept trying to regain the contact with his friend, even going so far as to murmur “Tach?” several times under his breath. He looked up, met Asta’s wary look, and ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.
“I … I was trying to get in touch with Tach.”
“Right.” And the fact that she clearly thought he was a nut did nothing to bolster his already-sagging spirits.
If the Turtle were here she wouldn’t be looking at him like that, he thought, torn between resentment and weariness. She would be scrabbling for safety atop his shell, while he burst from the cabin, scattering Takisians like ninepins, rescued Tach, and flew them triumphantly home. Or, rather, forced the Takisians to fly them home. There wasn’t room in the shell for passengers, nor did he know how tightly sealed it was. He’d look like a real dork if they all suffocated.…
He jammed a fist into his thigh, cutting off the tantalizing but pointless thoughts. He wasn’t Turtle; he was just Tom Tudbury, the New Jersey boy who in thirty years had managed to move two blocks. He closed his eyes, and watched the dark, ghostly images of ships passing down the Kill, running lights reflected in the dark, unseen waters. And he realized that he was finally about to go on a voyage, though not one of his own choosing.
A squeak from Asta brought his head up. The creature was back.
“I am Cosmic Traveler,” he announced, and then paused as if awaiting a fanfare. Asta and Tom stared at him, fascinated. “That ridiculous little man has sent me here to ascertain the whereabouts of our captors, and to inform you that he is concocting some, no doubt utterly unworkable and highly dangerous, escape plan.”
Asta wriggled forward on the bed, rising silkily onto her knees. “You can move at will through the ship,” she whispered. “Can you also return to Earth?”
“Yes.”
She stretched out her arms, the bones of her clavicle etched beneath the white skin. “Would you be willing to take me with you?” she purred.
Tom wanted to point out to her that first, what made her think the man was telling her the truth? and second, even if he could withstand the cold and vacuum of space, how was he going to take her?
She arched her swanlike neck, and lifted her hair with her hands. The gestures forced her small, upright bosoms against the leotard, the nipples hard knobs beneath the thin material. “I can be very generous to people who help me, and my employer might be able to make an interesting offer to a man of your unique abilities.”
The total incongruity of the situation left Tom breathless. He wondered if this woman was really going to shuck it, and screw with this stranger right before his wondering eyes. Surely the man would realize that more pressing matters were facing them. But Cosmic Traveler was going for it in a big way. Asta’s gyrations had set him to panting, and his fingers were working spasmodically at his sides. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the door, and Tom saw lust and fear battling it out on his smooth blue face. Lust won.
With a breathy “I agree” that was half groan and half words, he tottered to the edge of the bed. Asta was already stripping out of her blue jeans. Beneath them she wore pale pink tights. They and the leotard were quickly removed, and she held out her arms. Traveler collapsed with a moan onto her thin, white body, and they began frenzied foreplay.
Tom, embarrassed yet fascinated, noticed (with that strange attention to detail that seems to arise whenever one is in an acutely uncomfortable position) that her feet were very ugly. The toes were covered with sores and calluses, and one big toe was bruised black from the constant pounding of the toe shoe.
Ten minutes later they were still at it, Asta, with increasing irritation, saying “Come on! Come on!” Harsh, grunting sounds periodically erupted from Traveler as his blue ass pumped vigorously, and with increasing desperation, up and down, up and down.
The ring of a boot heel pulled a gasp from Asta, followed by a wild shriek as Traveler sank through her prone body, and vanished into the depths of the bed. Tom, too, almost lost it, and he rushed to the bed to ascertain if Asta was still alive. She was lying deathly still, and he reached out and touched one bare shoulder. She shrieked again, and Tom, startled by the outburst, lost his balance and pitched headfirst onto the bed. The Takisian goggled at the bed, then yelled, “Captain, he was—” The closing of the door cut off the rest of his words.
Cosmic Traveler returned.
“Well! I sincerely hope you don’t have to serve as a sex toy for Takisians. You’re singularly lacking in the most rudimentary erotic skills.”
“Me!” yelped Asta, shoving Tom away. “You’re the one who couldn’t get it—”
“And what are you sniggering at, you tubby little man,” roared Traveler. Tom hadn’t sniggered, not really, but the ludicrousness of the situation had drawn a sound from him.
“Do you know what they have planned for you?” Traveler continued, “Vivisection! Do you know what that means? I can’t imagine why they seized you. You must be the most paltry of aces. Shaking like a bowl of Jell-O, and sniveling like a reluctant virgin.” He shot a smoldering and resentful glance toward Asta, who threw him a bird.
Tom exploded. “Would you just get the fuck out of here! Fuck off! You think you’re so fucking smart, but you’re stuck too, just like the rest of us. You can’t get off this ship. If you could, you would have. Now get out. Get out!” Tom charged at him, waving his arms wildly about like a man shooing chickens. Traveler went, his features looking decidedly curdled.
“Where the hell have you been?” Tachyon halted his nervous perambulations. “How long does it take to scout out ship—” Traveler, halfway through the cabin wall, began to withdraw. Tachyon rushed forward. “No, please wait. I’m sorry. The stress … What did you find out?”
“Our captors are charging about the ship in pursuit of me. Though I can’t imagine how they are tracking me. They’ll no doubt be here soon—”
“And my Kibr? The old woman with the jewels in her hair,” he explained at Traveler’s blank look.
“I haven’t a notion.”
Tach held his tongue, deciding that Benaf’saj’s whereabouts were perhaps not all that important.
“All right, never mind, we’ll try it. To the left of the cabin doors there is a small protuberance on the wall. That is an override panel for the doors. Open mine, and then we’ll—”
“No.”
“I beg your…” he began politely, then stopped and rumbled, “What?”
“You heard me, I said no. I have not the slightest faith in your ability to successfully execute this escape plan, and I will not be a party to it. Besides, as I stand substantial and helpless outside your door, those thugs will come upon me, and harm me.”
“It will only take an instant.”
Traveler folded his arms across his chest, and stared majestically at the far wall. “No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
Tachyon folded his hands at his breast. “Please, please, please?”
“No.”
“You whining, groveling coward!” bellowed Tach. “You’re endangering all of us. You’re the only one—”
But Traveler was leaving. Tachyon leaped for a wall niche, pulled down a beautiful Membres vase, and launched it at the rapidly departing ace. It passed through him, smashed into the wall, and Traveler gave him a look of withering contempt and loathing. The entire incident left Tach shaking; partly with anger, partly with despair over his violent reaction. He untied his lace cravat, and yanked open his collar, gasping for air. He had tried so hard over the years to put such responses behind him, to deal gently and kindly with all people. And he had lost it all. He was behaving like … He paused, searching for some appropriately disgusting comparison.
Like Zabb.
This brief indulgence in self-castigation felt good, but it didn
’t remove the primary problem. They were up a creek without the proverbial paddle.
And this too is my fault, thought Tach without pausing to consider whether any amount of bribery or cajoling might have moved the recalcitrant ace.
His hour was almost gone. Raging against the vagaries of an unkind and uncaring universe that had left him trapped within the body of man he considered little better than a vegetable, he wandered through the Takisian ship dodging increasingly hysterical search parties. But this could not last. If he delayed he would revert to that moron Meadows, and the aliens might harm him. And however much Traveler might despise his host body, he realized that without Mark there was no life. He had noticed that doorways left faint lines on the walls like the fossilized imprint of ancient flower petals. Some opened automatically, others seemed to require a telepathic command, and still others used the access panels that Tachyon had described. He went in search of one that would not open automatically. One that seemed firmly and soundly locked from the outside.
Mark returned to himself slowly. And blinked … and blinked again, because it was dark. His hands roamed fitfully over his face and head until he had fully assured himself of his consciousness. But it was still dark. He shuffled forward, and ran his long nose firmly into a wall. Holding his bumped nose with one hand he stared out into the stygian darkness. Slowly he stretched out his arms, exploring the dimensions of his prison. It was small. Closet-size. Coffin-sized.
That thought was depressing so he shook it off, and tried through the hazy filter of Traveler’s memories to piece together what had happened.
“Aliens, man. Oh, bummer.”
And Tachyon … a prisoner? Yes, that felt right. He had been angry, Traveler had done or failed to do … something. Mark sighed, and scrubbed at his face with his hands. Yeah, that sounded about right where Traveler was concerned. For a moment he stood in morose contemplation of his alternate personae’s social and emotional shortcomings.