"Not half so slippery as you," said Tachyon bitterly.
Overall she'd made peace with her temporary gender change, and the sidelong looks from her friends and her enemies affected her very little. Until Zabb. Before him she knew humiliation, and the corrosive anger at her ludicrous situation became an actual pain in the center of her chest. Illyana, rightly perceiving the anger as being directed at her small baby self, shifted nervously and sent out a telepathic begging cry to her mother.
Reminded of her duty and obligation, Tachyon made a conscious effort to bury the anger, sent waves of comfort and love washing across the baby's unhappy little mind until she was rocked back into the peaceful dream state of the womb.
Wonderful, I'm turning my child into a codependent even before birth.
It raised an interesting question she had never before considered. Telepathic mothers could in fact begin imprinting, affecting their children long before their physical appearance in the world. But Tachyon's mind was male. So what behavior and thought patterns was Illyana absorbing?
"Hello, Tis? Are you with us?" Tach's head jerked back up, and she stared consideringly up at Zabb. "Will you come walking or no? And without them. I must speak with you privately."
A chorus of nos met his statement. Zabb's lips narrowed almost to invisibility beneath the sharp, elegant line of his mustache.
"Don't be such an idiot, Zabb. We've both spent our lives surrounded by guards. Why should it bother you? Unless you're afraid of my particular guards?"
"Burning Sky! You think you could present me with anything I would fear? Bring them if you think my word is not enough."
Tachyon stared at him. Heard the bravado echoing in the first sentence. Sensed the pain in the second. What a strange relationship we have, she thought. You taught me to ride and let me take the reins of the sleigh on Crystal Night. I've eluded your assassins, felt the cut of your blade as we dueled to the death. And each time I've cheated you. You are my adored enemy.
"Stay here," she heard herself saying. "I will walk out with my cousin."
"You've lost your fucking mind," said Jay.
"Perhaps... but I don't think I'll lose my life." She glanced back over her shoulder at the two humans. Smiled. "And if my judgment is poor, and his words dishonored, I'll trust you to kill him for me."
"I don't know about you, but I really hate that guy," Jay said conversationally as the door closed. "And I'm not going to let him waltz off with Tachy. Time for a little snoop-and-poop action."
"I'll snoop and poop with you." Meadows was busying himself with the briefcase.
"Meadows, I'm a detective. Taking you along is like taking a fucking semaphore --"
Jay didn't see which vial the gangly ace took, but suddenly there was a whirlwind, and blankets went sailing off the bunks like hysterical chickens. The little figure shrugged herself free of the cocooning blankets, and Jay felt his jaw drop.
Jet black hair fell like an ebony waterfall down her back. The black jumpsuit hugged every curve of her lovely body. The white yin/yang symbol on her chest drew the eye to her perfect breasts.
"You're living inside Mark Meadows? Holy shit, I'm going to be a lot nicer now."
"As we speak, our quarry eludes us," she said in a soft, pretty voice. There was a hint of censure in the words, and the remark was offered with a modest dropping of the eyes.
"Uh... yeah, right. Who the hell are you?" Jay asked plaintively, as they stepped through the door.
"Isis Moon... Moonchild."
Once in the corridor, Moonchild dimmed the lights. Shadows dripped from the walls. She stepped into one of them and promptly vanished. Jay briefly wondered how she'd feel about divorce work. He almost lost her several times, but each time a small hand reached out from the shadows, lightly touched his wrist, and led him on.
Down a left-branching corridor they heard voices: Zabb's clear tenor, and Tachyon's bell-like tones. Jay pressed himself against the wall and craned until he could peer around the doorjamb. It looked like an armory, with racks of weapons hung on the walls and several spacesuits hanging from hooks.
Tachyon was fiddling with the arm of a suit. She sighed, dropped it, and turned to face her cousin. "Are you still worrying about that damn throne? If it's any comfort to you... I don't want it." She shook her head. "And Zabb, it's over. Whether I want it or not, you can't have it either."
"Oh?"
"We've each made our choices. Mine was set fifty years ago when I went in pursuit of Ansata and the virus to try to prevent a holocaust. Your course was set five years ago when you betrayed your House and sold yourself to the Network. Takis may be a stop for each of us, but it can never again be home."
"You're the most self-righteous little vacu," Zabb returned angrily. "You pretend it was necessary for you to deal with the Network in order to protect Takis. Abortion! It was self-interest, pure and simple. Why don't you admit that all this altruism is really just a pose to cover your pathetic grandstanding for attention?
"You couldn't hold your own in the true Takisian fashion -- no aptitude for command, and no stomach for war. Even your science -- you were a synthesizer, not an innovator. You didn't invent the Enhancer project, you could only build on the work of others.
"You destroy everything you touch, Tis. Poor damned Ansata who carried the virus to Earth. If you'd let him carry out his mission, the death and suffering among those groundlings would have been much reduced. But you got to be a ministering power, the noble lord bountiful.
"And what about your own world? You damn near destroyed the family by your noble posturings. You left me to face our enemies." Zabb ripped open his tunic, and revealed the left side of his body. It was a mass of puckered white scar tissue. Tach threw out a hand and backed away.
So far as Jay could tell, Zabb didn't do a damn thing, but suddenly Tachyon threw her hands over her face, let out a scream, and collapsed.
Chapter Fifteen
"I win... and guess what? You lose." Blaise's voice held that excited, joyful lilt that always left Durg itching to slap him.
The effect it had on the Raiyis of House Vayawand could only be guessed at, for L'gura had himself well in hand. The strain of the past weeks had written their passing on his face. Where once he had been gaunt, the face was now skull-like, but Durg had to admire the force of will that kept the prince erect and serene even as he faced his executioners.
There was no hope of escape, and L'gura knew it. Those most loyal to him had long since been jumped and then killed or discredited by Blaise. The guards observing the tableau would not embrace death on behalf of this wounded wolf.
No blame could attach to the Raiyis for not suspecting, understanding, or knowing how to counter Blaise's powers. The fatal error had been basing their test of wills on Blaise's oratorical skills. L'gura should have selected a Takisian forum in which the native could excel. Instead the Raiyis had allowed Blaise (coached carefully by Durg) to goad him into a public debate and to make the throne the prize to be won.
Demagogue, thought Durg dreamily. It was a word without equivalent in Takisian, and Blaise had used this alien power to exhort and thrill until the members of House Vayawand were roaring their support and enthusiasm. A few hot and gusting words, and they fancied themselves the rulers of Takis. The decision of the House was plain -- they wanted Blaise to lead them to this new order. But it would be Durg who would translate words into reality.