"This is a joker neighborhood. We can take care of ourselves."
"Meaning there's hostility between jokers and aces?"
"Digger, don't be an ass. Is it so surprising that these people choose to handle this themselves? They are viewed as freaks, treated like retarded children, and ignored in favor of their more fortunate and flamboyant brethren. May I point out that your magazine is titled Aces, and no one is panting to found a concomitant magazine entitled jokers? Look around you. This is an activity born out of love and pride. How could I say to these people you're not tough enough or smart enough or strong enough to defend yourselves? Let me call in the aces."
Which was of course precisely what he had been going to do until Des had opened his eyes. But Digger didn't need to know that. Still, Tach had the grace to blush as he shamelessly appropriated Des's lecture and passed it on to the journalist. "Comment on Leo Barnett?"
"He is a hate-mongering lunatic."
"Can I quote you on that?"
"Go ahead."
"So who's going to be the white knight? Hartmann?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"I thought you two were real tight."
"We're friends, but hardly intimates."
"Why do you think Hartmann's been such a friend to the jokers? Personal interest? His wife a carrier, or maybe an illegitimate joker baby hidden away somewhere?"
"I think he is a friend to the wild cards because he is a good man," replied Tachyon a little frigidly.
"Hey, speaking of monstrous joker babies, what's the latest poop on Peregrine's pregnancy?"
Tachyon went rigid with fury, then carefully uncoiled his fists, and relaxed. "No, Digger, you're not going to get me again. I will never stop regretting that I let slip that the father of Peregrine's child was an ace."
"Have a drink on me, Tachy?" asked the journalist hopefully, eying the almost empty snifter.
"NO!"
"Just a little hint to reassure all those breathless fans who are worried about Peri?"
"Oh, go away, Digger, do. You plague me worse than horse flies." He waved a hand toward the jokers. "Interview them, and leave me in peace. I'm far less important in all of this than they are."
"Jesus, Tachy! Modesty, from you?"
The Takisian stared hard, and Digger lifted the glass from the table and dribbled the remaining brandy over his head. "I'm not… in a very good mood… right now."
The journalist mopped at his wet neck. "No fuck! And that makes two, Tach. I'll be collecting on that next interview soon."
"I'll count the moments."
"Asshole."
Tachyon stared morosely at his empty glass, then scanned the room for a waiter. Durg at'Morakh bo-Isis Vayawand-sa had been stolidly eating his way through an enormous plate of food, but Tachyon noticed that his pale eyes kept drifting toward the staircase. Chrysalis appeared and, the Morakh killer, light-footed despite his incredible bulk, moved swiftly to her side. He lifted her hand with courtly grace and bestowed a fervent kiss upon it. Chrysalis snatched it back and stared coldly down at hire. Drawn despite himself, Tach drifted toward them, trying to overhear. Suddenly Chrysalis's hand shot out, and the sharp slap echoed about the crowded bar.
"Tachyon!" she gritted. He obediently followed her to her private table. Lifting her deck of antique cards, she shuffled quickly several times and laid out a solitaire hand. "Will you keep your pet freak away from me!"
"He's not mine, he's Mark's, and what's the problem?"
"He wants me."
"Good god!"
A tangle of conflicting emotions washed through him.
Disgust and amazement that Durg could be attracted to the joker. Monster he might be, but he was still a Takisian.
Shame for his reaction, and pity for Chrysalis beset by such a monstrous lover.
"Will you get him off my back?"
"I'll do what I can, but remember he was raised from childhood to hate and despise me; first by the Vayawand and then by my cousin Zabb. He tolerates me now solely for Mark's sake."
"Please."
"All right, but be a bit more forbearing, I beg you. The Morakh may be a perversion, but they are Takisians, and as such used to getting what they want from groundlings. Never forget he's a killing machine."
"Thanks so much, Tachy, I feel so much better now."
"Sorry."
"Well, maybe the Mafia or the Fists will beat my head in before he does. And to think I let you talk me into this. You know this really is all your fault. Oh, stop looking so stricken. It was a joke."
"Not to me."
Dita came toddling down the hall, the heels of her improbably high heels clicking on the faded tile floor.
"Doctor, Mr. Marion quit!"
Tachyon looked up from the chart he was studying. "Who?"
"Mr. Marion, the tutor."
"Oh, shit." It was not a common expletive from him and Dita stared. "Dita, I'm far to busy to deal with this right now, and since it's a losing proposition anyway, would you please hire a new tutor for me."
"But I wouldn't know what to look for."
"A thorough grounding in mathematics, and the sciences."
Some history and literature, and a knowledge or at least an appreciation for music would be nice.'
The click and hiss of the pager, and the smooth voice of the switchboard interrupted. "Dr. Tachyon to emergency. Dr. Tachyon to emergency."
"But…"
"Just use your judgment." Looping his stethoscope around his neck, Tach lifted the phone from the third-floor nurses' station. "What is it?"
"Wild card," came the terse response from Dr. Finn. He wasted no more time but headed for the elevator.
The child was writhing on the examnation table. Finn's hooves were clattering nervously on the tile as he sought to restrain her. He was the first joker physician at the Blythe van Renssaeler Memorial Clinic, and there had been some initial resistance from the joker community fearful that he had gotten through medical school because of affirmative action and not through merit. After two weeks of working with the young man, Tach could assure them that their fears were unfounded.
The child's mother stared with panicked eyes at Tachyon.
Superficially she was a nat; what her genetic code held was of course another matter. Manifestation, or new infection? Only testing would show.
"Initial exam indicates no transformation. We've managed to stabilize pressure and heart rate, and I've ordered up a trump' but…"
"Thank you, Doctor. Mrs…?"
"Wilson," supplied a nurse.
"Wilson." Tachyon took her arm, urged her away frm the convulsing child. "Your daughter has contracted the wild card, and its fairly evident that she's drawn a Black Queen."
The woman gasped, whimpered, clapped a hand over her mouth. "We must very quickly make a decision. We can give her a dose of a countervirus which I have developed-"
"Give it to her!"
"But I must warn you that this treatment is successful only twenty percent of the time. The usual result is that there is no improvement. The virus runs its course. There is also a very slight chance of death in reaction to the trump."
"She's dyin' anyway. It don't matter if she does it faster." A nurse appeared at her elbow with the release.
Tachyon was already preparing the syringe. It took Finn and three nurses to hold the girl quiet. The plunger was depressed. Tach held her wrist, the flutter of pulse beneath his fingers. Fainter, fainter. The monitor went flat. The deadly keen was echoed in the mother's cry.