Her left hand itched. She raised it in front of her face and stared at the inflamed puncture wound. Maybe she had caught her hand on something when she'd moved in her sleep, and that had translated into the dream. Perhaps it was stigmata. Either story sounded equally implausible. Maybe this was some weird new menstrual side effect. Cordelia shook her head. Nothing made sense. Weakness flooded over her and she had to sit down on the lid of the toilet. The inside of her skull felt scoured. Maybe she had spent much of the night battling monsters.
Cordelia realized someone was knocking on the door of the restroom. Others wanted to get ready for New Zealand. So long as they weren't wolf-creatures…
The morning was sunny. The North Island of New Zealand was intensely green. The 747 touched down with scarcely a bump and then sat at the end of the runway for twenty minutes until the agriculture people climbed on board. Cordelia hadn't expected that. She watched bemusedly as the smiling young men in their crisp uniforms walked down the aisles, an aerosol jet of pest-killer fogging from the can in each hand. Something about this reminded her perversely of what she'd read of the final moments of Jetboy.
Carlucci must have been thinking something similar. Having promised not to smoke, he'd moved into the seat beside her. "Sure hope it's pesticide," he said. "Be a really nasty joke if it was the wild card virus."
After the passengers had murmured, griped, wheezed, and coughed, the jumbo taxied to the terminal and everyone debarked. The pilot told them they had two hours before the plane left on the thousand-mile leg to Sydney.
"Just time to stretch our legs, buy some cards, make some phone calls," said Carlucci. Cordelia welcomed the thought of getting some exercise.
In the main terminal Carlucci went off to place his trans-Pacific calls. The terminal seemed extraordinarily crowded. Cordelia saw camera crews in the distance. She headed for the doors to the outside.
From behind her she heard, "Cordelia! Ms. Chaisson!" The voice wasn't Carlucci's. Who the hell? She turned and saw a vision of flowing red hair framing a face that looked vaguely like Errol Flynn's in Captain Blood. But Flynn had never worn such bright clothing, not even in the colorized Adventures of Captain Fabian.
Cordelia stopped and smiled. "So," she said. "Do you like new wave music any better these days?"
"No," said Dr. Tachyon. "No, I'm afraid I do not."
"I fear," said the tall, winged woman standing beside Tachyon, "that our good Tacky will never progress much beyond Tony Bennett." A simply cut, voluminous blue silk dress whispered softly around her. Cordelia blinked. Peregrine was hard to mistake.
"Unfair, my dear." Tachyon smiled at his companion. "I have my favorites among contemporary performers. I'm rather fond of Placido Domingo." He turned back toward Cordelia.
"I'm forgetting my manners. Cordelia, have you formally met Peregrine?"
Cordelia took the proffered hand. "I've had a call in to your agent for weeks now. Nice to see you." Shut up, she said to herself. Don't be rude.
Peregrine's dazzling blue eyes regarded her. "I'm sorry," she said. "Is this about the benefit at Dez's club? I'm afraid I've been incredibly busy tidying up other projects in the midst of getting ready for this trip."
"Peregrine," said Tachyon, "this young woman is Cordelia Chaisson. We know each other from the clinic. She's come frequently with friends to visit C.C. Ryder."
"C. C.'s going to be able to do the Funhouse," said Cordelia.
"That would be fabulous," said Peregrine. "I've admired her work for a long time."
"Perhaps we could all sit down over a drink," said Tachyon. He smiled at Cordelia. "There has been a delay with arranging the senator's ground transport into Auckland. I'm afraid were stranded at the airport for a bit." The man glanced back over his shoulder. "As well, I'm afraid we are trying to avoid the rest of the party. The aircraft does get a bit close."
Cordelia felt the tempting proximity of fresh air starting to drift away. "I've got just about two hours," she said, hesitating. "Okay, let's have a drink." As they walked toward the restaurant, Cordelia didn't see Carlucci. He could get along fine by himself. What she did notice was the number of stares following them. No doubt some of the attention was being paid to Tachyon-his hair and wardrobe always ensured that. But mostly people were looking at Peregrine. Probably the New Zealanders weren't all that accustomed to seeing a tall, gorgeous woman with functional wings folded against her back. She was spectacular, Cordelia admitted to herself. It would be great to have the looks, the stature, the presence. At once Cordelia felt very young. Almost like a kid. Inadequate. Damn it.
Cordelia ordinarily took her coffee with milk. But if black would help clear her head, then she'd give it a try. She insisted that the three of them wait for a window table. If she wasn't going to breathe the outside air, at least she could sit within inches of it. The colors of the unfamiliar trees reminded her of photos she'd seen of the Monterey Peninsula.
"So," she said after they'd given orders to the waitress, " I guess I should say something about a small world. How's the junket? I saw some pictures of the Great Ape on the eleven o'clock news before I left."
Tachyon rambled on about Senator Hartmann's roundthe-world tour. Cordelia remembered reading about it interminably in the Post on the subway, but had been so busy with the Funhouse benefit, she hadn't paid much attention. "Sounds like a backbreaker," she said when Tachyon finished his gloss.
Peregrine smiled wanly. "It hasn't exactly been a vacation. I think Guatemala was my favorite. Have your people thought of climaxing the benefit with a human sacrifice?"
Cordelia shook her head. " I think we're going for a little more festive tone, even considering the occasion."
"Listen," Peregrine said. "I'll do what I can with my agent. In the meantime maybe I can introduce you to a few folks who'll do you some good. Do you know Radha O'Reilly? Elephant Girl?" At Cordelia's head shake she continued, "when she turns into a flying elephant, it's smoother than anything Doug Henning's dreamed of. You ought to talk to Fantasy too. You could use a dancer like her."
"That'd be terrific," Cordelia said. "Thank you." She felt the frustration of wanting to do everything herself-showing everyone and yet knowing when to accept the aid that was being graciously extended.
"So," Tachyon said, breaking in on her thoughts. "And what are you doing here so far from home?" His expression looked expectant; his eyes gleamed with honest curiosity. Cordelia knew she couldn't get away with claiming she'd won the trip for selling Girl Scout cookies. She opted for honesty. "I'm going to Australia with a guy from GF amp;G to try and buy a. satellite ground station before it gets scarfed up by a TV preacher." said Tachyon. "Would that evangelist be Leo Barnett, by chance?"
Cordelia nodded.
"I hope you succeed." Tachyon frowned. "Our friend Fire-breather's power is growing at a dangerously exponential rate. I, for one, would prefer to see the growth of his media empire retarded."
"Just yesterday," said Peregrine, "I heard from Chrysalis that some of Barnett's youth-group thugs are hanging out in the Village and beating the stuffing out of anybody they think is both a joker and vulnerable."
"Die Juden," Tachyon murmured. The two women glanced questioningly at him. "History." He sighed, then said to Cordelia, "Whatever help you need in competing with Barnett, let us know. I think you'll find a great deal of support from both aces and jokers."