Wild Cards V (68 page)

“Which part of this mess? The creation of the virus? No, not entirely my fault. The fact that Croyd's become a carrier? Again, probably beyond my control. The fact that Jane has become the most hunted person in Jokertown? Maybe not. But she is my responsibility, and I've got to find her and protect her if I can.” Tachyon slammed his fist into the elevator wall, breaking the skin across his knuckles.

Finn lifted his hand and blotted at the welling blood with a handkerchief. “Relax, we'll find her.”

“Will we?” Tachyon licked reflectively at the blood. “More to the point,
should
we?”

“Ha! I blast you with my killer mind-attack. And I make it! You lose another life.” Tachyon tossed the tiny cardboard marker into the discard pile. “And I can really do that too.” Blaise's eyes glittered in the lamplight. “I bet if I worked hard I could kill with my mind.”

Polyakov glanced up from his newspaper.

“It's not a talent to cultivate.”

“Can you do it?”

“Drop it, Blaise.”

“Can you?”

“I said drop it.”

The small, round chin hardened, the lips narrowing into a mulish line. “Maybe I'll just have to practice on somebody since you won't—”

Tachyon came across the dining table and landed a slap that knocked the boy out of his chair.

“Tachyon!”
bellowed the Russian.

“Blaise! Blaise! I'm sorry. So sorry. Are you all right?” Aghast, he gathered the child into his arms. “Oh, Ideal, forgive me.”

The boy swung wildly, striking Tach above the eye. His esper ability poured off him in shuddering silver waves as he struggled to break his elder's shields. Tachyon quieted Blaise with a lick of his power.

“Listen to me. I'm horribly tired, and under a lot of stress. I know that's not an adequate excuse, but I offer it as an explanation. I don't want you to learn to kill. It does something to your soul because you are so closely linked with your victim. It's not like make-believe.” He gestured back toward the abandoned Talisman game. “You have to burrow deep, tear away layer after layer of the person's mind before you can kill.”

“Have you done it?” Blaise muttered around a swelling lip.

“Yes, and it haunts me to this day.” Polyakov stepped to the alien's side and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I weighed Rabdan's life against the life of the Earth. He had to die, it was necessary but…” He hugged the child close. “You must learn to be kind, Blaise. Don't even joke about practicing on the humans. Our original sin was treating them as laboratory animals. Don't you—”

The trill of the phone interrupted him.

“Doctor. This is Jane.”

“Jane, where—”

“No, no questions. Just listen. I have an address and a telephone number for Croyd. Only one. I heard the ads. I guess I can understand why you have to find him.”

“Jane, I'm sorry I didn't help you before.”

“It's okay. I was pretty strung out. You're not going to hurt him, are you? He's been a friend. I hate to think I'm betraying him, but…”

“More people will die if you don't. You're right to tell me.”

“Okay. He's got an apartment on Eldridge. Three twenty-three Eldridge. Third floor. Five five five, four four nine one.”

“Thank you, Jane, thank you so much. My dear child, we must—” But he was talking to the buzz of a disconnected line.

He replaced the receiver and stood face-to-face with a nasty moral dilemma. If …
when
they captured Croyd, and if he awoke in a new form minus the carrier power, well and good. But if this mutation carried over, then the decisions became harder. To keep the man in isolation for the rest of his life?

Or to kill him.…

… A woman lying back among pillows and tangled sheets. A sheen of sweat across her dark breasts and belly. The moisture-matted hair of her mons—

The three-dimensional picture fragmented and vanished.

Sorry,
squeaked Video in Tachyon's mind.
We got the wrong apartment.

Wait, that might be Croyd.

He reached out and touched the woman's mind. It wasn't Croyd.

Floater and Video resumed their slow crawl across the back wall of the apartment building.

There were a few nervous laughs from the people in the van. Elmo shifted uncomfortably. His hazardous-environment suit was scarcely able to contain his bulk, and he looked rather like an ill-stuffed sausage. They had cobbled together suits for Troll and Ernie out of four other suits. So far the seals were holding, but Tachyon winced every time he considered the expense. Video and Floater each had suits, and Tachyon wore his Network-designed spacesuit.

It was impossible to protect Slither. They had tried a helmet and air supply, but the air tanks kept sliding around on her serpent's body, pulling loose the hoses. Tach had ordered her to stay out of the fight. She would be a final line of defense if Croyd got past them.

 … Surprisingly neat room. A tall, thin man lounged on the sofa reading
Newsweek.
Ultrapale skin, odd eyes, brown hair with white roots showing.…

 … Another man seated at the kitchen table playing solitaire. Wonderfully handsome, but an easily forgettable face for all that.…

Bill Lockwood.

Tachyon read a soul-deep sense of gratitude and a determination to protect …
Croyd!

He switched his focus to the albino. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and stung his eyes as he struggled to touch the mind. Sliding his hand through the clear bubble of the helmet, he wiped perspiration and tried again.
Whirling darkness like a primordial black hole.
It was a mind block, but one of the oddest he'd ever felt. He spent another twenty minutes trying to find a way over, under, around, or through it. Finally he reluctantly concluded that it was more like an immunity than an actual shield.

He explained the situation to his troops, then added, “So we just go in and thump on him. How hard can it be? And remember, if you're not suited,
don't
go into that room.”

They piled out. With a wave he motioned Slither and Ernie toward the rear alley. Then he and Troll and Elmo headed up the steps to the front door. There were buzzers, but since the lock was broken off the outer door, they didn't serve much purpose. Cautiously they stepped inside and started climbing for the third floor.

Fortunately the suit masked the smells, but Tach could imagine them. He had made too many house calls to just such buildings. The stink of rancid grease. The sickly-sweet scent of human and animal wastes clinging in the corners of the stairwells. Sweat, fear, poverty, and hopelessness—they too left a smell. The walls were graffiti-covered, slogans and howls of outrage in several languages.

I'm in position.

Video flashed him another picture of the room. Nothing had changed.

Window?
Tachyon asked his recon team.

Open. In this heat what do you expect?
sent back Floater.

Go in
? asked Video.

Yes.

The alien motioned to Troll. The security chief took a grip on the knob, sucked in a breath, held it.

 … The albino noticed Floater with Video riding piggyback on his shoulders, crawling in the window. He rose with blinding speed, uttered an oath, and drew a gun.…

“Now!” yelled Tachyon.

Troll forced the door. The lock broke with a scream of outraged metal and torn wood. Tach and Elmo tumbled into the room. The albino fired, and missed. Slither, disobeying or having completely forgotten her orders, came coiling up the fire escape like a hunting boa on a tree. She lashed out with her tufted tail and knocked the gun from the albino's hand.

“You fuckers!” Cards flew like frightened butterflies as the young man flung aside the table.

A right punch was coming in. Tachyon tried to deflect it with a quick outward block, but when his arm connected with Lockwood's, it stopped as if caught in a vise. Tach gasped. Troll, grunting with irritation, let loose with a wide, slow haymaker. His enormous fist slammed into Lockwood's jaw. No reaction. Tach and Troll stepped back, alarmed.

Croyd was trying to tie Slither into knots. Elmo waded in and was tossed contemptuously aside. He came back in, his arms driving like pistons. Ernie joined the fray. Floater was trying to scramble across the ceiling back to the window.

A sound like a side of beef hitting concrete. The pretty boy had landed a hit on Troll. The big joker doubled over. And Tachyon stared dismayed.

Thank you, Jesus, that he didn't hit me!
came the hysterical little thought.

Troll drove two hard left/right punches into Lockwood's gut.

Nothing!

Lockwood wound up and delivered a punch to Tachyon's head. The Network helmet withstood the blow, but the kinetic force threw the tiny alien across the room. He came up bruised and groaning against the far wall. Troll was raining punches on Lockwood. The young man grinned and hammered in a series of hits that drove Troll across the room. The big joker stood swaying, arms over his helmeted head. Lockwood kicked him hard in the groin, then brought both hands down on the back of Troll's neck.

When a tree falls in the forest this is just how it sounds
, thought Tach inanely as nine feet of joker went down like a poleaxed ox.

“Shit,” commented Floater from overhead.

Tachyon reached out with a powerful imperative. Silver lines of power flowed out from him but failed to wrap like a net about the man's mind. Instead the power sank like a stone in quicksand.

SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!

The power washed back toward him, struck his shields, and passed right through.

Boomerang power
, was Tachyon's last conscious thought.

He was dancing the most intricate and wonderful triple minor set, but there were no other men in the dance. Just him, and a long line of women. Blythe and Saaba and Dani and Angelface and M'orat, and Jane and Talli, and Roulette and Peregrine and Victoria and—

Zabb grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to cut in.

Muttering and growling, Tach dug his cheek deeper into the pillow. The antiseptic smell and rough texture of the pillowcase infuriated him.
I won't endure a bed like this. How dare they? The infernal cheek!

He forced up gummed lids, stared into Victoria Queen's frowning blue eyes.

Smiled up at her. “You dance divinely.”

“Oh, wake up!” She jammed a needle into his arm.

“Ow!”

“Stimulant. Our hero. You finally meet someone with a superior mind-control power at positively the worst moment.”

“He was
not
superior! That was my
own
power ricocheting back at me. Nothing else could have gotten past my—” He cut off, ashamed by his outraged justification, then continued in a chastised tone, “Did we get them?”

“No.”