Chapter Seven

“Jube will use you as our message drop.”

“Oh, goody.” Jay was canted back in his chair, feet on the desk, sucking on coffee. “So added to aiding and abetting a felon, we have consorting with aliens and smuggling aliens… The damn INS is going to love me.

Tach ignored him. “It will be at least a week before the ship arrives, but I will check with you every day just to be on the safe side.”

“And where will you be staying?”

“In New Jersey. That is all you need to know.”

“And how are you going to get back there?”

The detective’s bland face was even more bland than usual. Tach eyed him suspiciously. “What? What have you heard? What do you know?”

“City’s been sealed.”

This is not a big problem,” was the acerbic reply. “I assume at some time you have been to New Jersey?”

“Yeah, but the only place I remember really well is a nightclub in Jersey City.”

“It will do.”

Jay formed the fingers of his right hand into the shape of a gun, pointed at Tach.

The owner of the nightclub was very annoyed. He thought Tach was a runaway who had been sleeping in his club. He also thought she was drunk; actually a front-heavy Tach was trying to overcome the effects of the teleport. Balance regained, she took a quick glance about the shadowed and silent club. It was pretty sleazy, but then this was New Jersey… and Jay.

“I’m callin’ the cops!”

“Please do. I’m with the Department of Health and Public Safety. We’re making an undercover sweep, and let me tell you, a night exploring your kitchen and bathrooms…” The owner blanched.

“We’ve had some help problems,” the man whined.

Tach was heading for the front door. “Well, get them fixed!”

She found a pay phone a block from the club. Dialed the junkyard.

Tachyon was resting in a recliner, a pillow supporting the small of her back, feet up to relieve the swelling in her ankles. The pressure of two pairs of eyes finally penetrated her darting, whirling thoughts. She looked up, meeting Tom Tudbury’s concerned look, and Mark Meadows’s thoughtful gaze.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s, like, really weird watching you, man. At times you’ve got this faraway peaceful look like you’re telling the world, ‘I’m pregnant, so you and your problems can just go piss off.’ And other times I look in your eyes, and it’s pure Tachyon.”

She stared at the lanky human. His six-foot-four-inch frame was too long for the sofa, so his remarkably big feet hung over the end of the couch like moving crates that had suddenly taken a mind to wearing tennis shoes. Ragged ends of hair just brushed the back of his collar. Once it had hung below his shoulders.

Tach sighed and let go of the past. “Ideal, I’m losing my self.”

“Much of what we are is defined by our biology,” Mark reminded her.

“How depressing.” She sat silent for a moment, then asked, “I’m curious – how did you know to rescue me?”

“They, like, read in Taos, New Mexico, too. I’d joined a commune -”

“There still are some?” It was the first thing Tommy had said in hours.

“Yeah, a couple. Anyway, we went into town for groceries, and I saw the headline on Aces. So I came.”

A strange expression twisted Tommy’s face, regret and guilt. Because he didn’t come for me? Tach wondered. Aloud she said, “You shouldn’t be here, Mark. It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve gotten pretty good at this. I know how to buy fake ID. I can spot tails… well, most times,” he amended, and the pale blue eyes blinked rapidly behind the thick lenses of his glasses. It was a brief glimpse of the man he had been.

“I miss my sweet Mark. My innocent one,” said Tach softly.

“Mr. Bush’s meaner and crueler attitude toward wild cards sent him away,” Mark said in a feeble attempt at a joke.

It was a bizarre set of events which had turned the former flower child into a fugitive from federal justice. Mark’s ex-wife had returned after years of absence and demanded custody of the couple’s retarded daughter, Sprout. Kimberly based her case on Cap’n Trips’s unfitness as a parent because he was a wild card. The court agreed but didn’t find the former Mrs. Meadows too tightly wrapped either. They removed Sprout to the care of New York’s foster services. Mark objected strenuously to this and, enlisting the aid of his “friends,” broke his child out of the juvie home. That made him a criminal. It was a mad world, Tachyon decided.

“Anyway, I’m here, Tachy, and I want to help. So tell me what you need,” Mark concluded.

She laughed. “Blood and Ancestors, where to start. She sobered.

“Go on,” Tom prodded her out of her abstracted silence.

“I haven’t been home in almost fifty years, and I’m coming home at a distinct disadvantage. I don’t have my powers. I have to prove who I am, reclaim my place, and then I can start worrying about locating Blaise and my body. And how do I force Blaise to make the switch? And what if he kills my body to stop me? What if he’s already killed my body?”

“First answer me a question,” Tom said. “Why do you believe Blaise is on Takis?”

“Because of the company he took. My ship, my body… and Durg.”

A slap couldn’t have hit Mark harder. His fingers scrabbled at the back of the sofa, and he came bolt upright.

“Durg. I left him standin’ on the side of the road. K.C. was dead, Blaise was on our trail, and about half a thousand cops right behind him. I didn’t want Durg in trouble with the law. I was trying to protect him.”

“Leaving him was the worst thing you could have done. He’s Morakh. They’re bred for only two purposes – killing and loyal service. A Morakh cannot exist without a master.” She sighed.

A delicate shivering was running through Mark’s hands. “So I caused this.”

Tach stood, crossed to him, and closed her fingers briefly around his. “No, Mark, no. Assigning blame at this late date is quite useless, and anyway, the original sin is mine. I brought Blaise into my world in a spray of bullets and blood.”

“He never knew you killed his guardian,” Tom said.

“Some things, maybe, are sensed by the soul.”

Tom set aside his beer and, propping his elbows on his knees, regarded her over the top of steepled fingers. “Are you planning to ask for some help?”

Stiffly she said, “I would not so impose. Besides, I can handle matters myself.”

“Damn stiff-necked Takisian. You’d put your head in a noose just to prove it’s a pretty necklace.”

“The point?” she gritted, eyeing him down the length of her upturned nose.

“From what you’ve told me, you’re going back to a pretty Byzantine and poisonous environment. You’re going to need bodyguards.”

“Tommy, I could not ask it of you.”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

“Oh, man.” Tachyon had never seen it outside of a movie screen, but Mark actually slapped his forehead. “I’m so dense. Now I remember you. You’re the Turtle!”

“Yeah, I’m the Turtle. An embarrassed and red-faced Turtle. I should have been the one to break her out of Governor’s Island.”

“No, man, you’re, like, a hero. You don’t break the laws. Me” – he shrugged – “I’m already a fugitive from federal justice. What’s another count on the rap sheet?”

Tom’s face clouded at the memory of the last time he’d faced off with Mark Meadows – or rather one of Mark’s “friends.” J. J. Flash, Esquire, had firmly and comprehensively kicked Turtle’s armored behind. Mark remembered at precisely the same moment and sucked in air in a quick little hiccuping gasp.

“An… uh, I’m real sorry about Flash, but I had to get my kid.”

“Forget it.” Tommy waved him off.

Tachyon reasserted control over the conversation. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your most generous offers, but this -”

“Makes perfect sense. Me and my ‘friends’ would be happy to go. Give Turtle here some backup.”