“We are aliens,” pointed out Mark.
“There are aliens and then there are aliens. I want you in the ship category. Able to speak Sham’al and know a bit of Ilkazal.”
“So we can’t parlay vous in English at all?” Jay asked, totally confusing the issue.
“Not at all. Like the ships, you have your own private language -”
“We’re not going to have to learn ship talk too, are we?” asked Mark hastily.
She said reassuringly, “No, it’s far beyond humanoid understanding. It’s telepathy based on complex mathematics. When broken down and made audible, it resembles music more than anything else.”
Mark’s homely face became almost handsome as he smiled in delight. “Awesome, man, the music of the spheres. Maybe old Sir Thomas wasn’t so far off.”
Tachyon chuckled, the first laugh she’d enjoyed in weeks. The image of one of Baby’s relatives hanging in the sky and singing softly to a British poet was irresistible.
Jay pulled her back. “So let me get this straight. As allies you’ve got your ships and that’s it?”
“And the Network has one hundred and thirty-seven member races.” Jay shook his head. “I think we’re playing in the wrong league.”
“You’re not playing in any league at all,” said Tachyon. “You’re still a farm team.”
“And who calls us up is still in doubt?” asked Mark.
Tach just nodded. She never did get to return to her dissertation on Takisian linguistics. The door to the cabin opened, and Zabb entered. Her reaction startled and dismayed her. The Tachyon mind cried out for her to assume a fighter’s stance, prepare for attack. The body responded by placing a hand protectively over her belly. Fortunately, Mark and Jay were more practical. They shifted quickly, Mark shielding her with his body, Jay hanging by her left shoulder.
“Sit, hounds.” Zabb patted soothingly at the air with his palms. “I’ve not come to harm my cousin, merely invite” He broke off abruptly, his mouth twisting in a crooked half smile that fifty years ago Tachyon had learned to resent and distrust. “Dear me, sweet Tisianne, what do I call you? English is such a primitive and cumbersome language. Are you a he, a she, or an it? Pronouns, I believe they’re called… slippery things.”
“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?