Wild Cards Part 22

"Sure, why not."

"I'm not imposing? Would you rather prepare your testimony?"

"What testimony? I don't know anything about China."

"When did they get you?" His deft hands flew, setting up the board.

"Yesterday afternoon about one."

"It's all such a crock," the Envoy said with a marked lack of diplomacy, and viciously jammed in a p.a.w.n at Queen's p.a.w.n four.

They were still at the game when Blythe and Quinn returned. The board went flying with the alien's precipitous leap, but David didn't remonstrate with him. Blythe was as pale as death, and shaking.

"What did they do?" demanded Tach, the words harsh in his throat. She didn't answer, merely s.h.i.+vered within the circle of his arms like a wounded animal.

"Dr. Tachyon, this is going a bit beyond China. We must talk."

"A moment." He bent to her, and pressed his lips against her temple. He could feel the pulse beating there. Quickly he slipped beneath her defense, and sent a calming tide flowing through her mind. With a final shudder she relaxed, and loosened her grip on the lapel of his pale peach coat. "Sit with David, love. I have to talk to Mr. Quinn." He knew he was talking down to her, but stress could warp the fragile structure she had constructed to keep her divergent personalities separated, and what he had found in that brief incursion had been an eroding edifice.

The lawyer drew him aside. "China was the excuse, Doctor. The issue now is this virus. I think this committee has gotten the idea that the aces are a subversive force, and they may reflect the mood in the country at large."

"Dr. Tachyon," called the page. Quinn waved him back with an abrupt slash.

"Absurd!"

"Nonetheless, I now understand why you're here. My advice to you is to take the Fifth."

"Which means?"

"You refuse to answer all and any questions. That includes your name. Such a response has been construed as a waiver of the Fifth."

Tach drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. "I do not fear these men, Mr. Quinn, nor will I sit and condemn myself by silence. We will stop this foolishness now!"

The room was an obstacle course of lights, chairs, tables, people, and the snaking cables. Once he caught his heel, stumbled, pulling himself up with a muttered curse. For an instant the room faded, and he saw the parqueted, chandelier-lit expanse of the Ilkazam ballroom and heard the t.i.tters of family and friends as he had stood lost in the midst of the intricacies of Princes Baffled. Because of his error the dance had come to a grinding, stumbling halt, and over the music he could hear his cousin Zabb's nasal voice describing in ruthless detail precisely which step he had missed. Hot blood rushed to his cheeks, and brought a line of sweat to his upper lip. Removing a handkerchief he dabbed at the moisture, then noticed that his discomfort was not entirely due to his memories; because of the television lights the room was broiling.

As he settled himself on the hard, straight-backed wooden chair, Tach noted the skeletal frame of the gla.s.s box that was being built to house David. It seemed somehow ominous, like a half-finished scaffold, and he quickly switched his gaze to the nine men who dared to sit in judgment on him and his genamiri genamiri. They were remarkable only for their expressions of grim portentousness. Otherwise they were merely a collection of middle-aged to elderly men dressed in ill-fitting dark suits. An expression of regal disdain settled over his features, and he lounged back in the chair, his very relaxation making a mockery of their power.

"Wish you had heeded me on the matter of your dress," murmured Quinn as he opened his briefcase.

"You told me to dress well. I did."

Quinn eyed the swallow-tailed coat and pants of pale peach, the vest embroidered in shades of green and gold, and the high soft boots with their gold ta.s.sels. "Black would have been better."

"I'm not a common laborer."

"Would you state your name for the committee," said Chairman Wood, without looking up from his papers.

He leaned in to the microphone. "I am known on your world as Dr. Tachyon."

"Your full and real name."

"You're quite certain you want that?"

"Would I ask it otherwise?" Wood grunted testily.

"As you wish." Smiling faintly, the alien launched into a recitation of his complete pedigree. "Tisianne brant Ts'ara sek Halima sek Ragnar sek Omian. So ends my mother's line, Omian being a relative newcomer to the Ilkazam clan having married in from the Zaghloul. My maternal grandfather was Taj brant Parada sek Amurath sek Ledaa sek Shahriar sek Naxina. His sire was Bakonur brant Sennari-"

"Thank you," Wood said hurriedly. He glanced down the table at his colleagues. "Perhaps for the purposes of this hearing we can make do with his nom de plume?"

"De guerre," he corrected sweetly, and enjoyed Wood's flush of irritation.

There followed several pointless and meandering questions about where he lived and worked; then John Rankin of Mississippi leaned in. "Now as I understand it, Dr. Tachyon, you are not a citizen of the United States of America."

Tach shot Quinn an incredulous glance. There were t.i.tters from the a.s.sembled journalists, and Rankin glared.

"No, sir."

"Then you are an alien." Satisfaction laced the words.

"Undeniably," he drawled. Leaning nonchalantly back in the chair, he began to play with the folds of his cravat.

Case of South Dakota stepped in. "And did you or did you not enter this country illegally?"

"There didn't seem to be an immigration center at White Sands, on the other hand I didn't ask, being concerned with more pressing matters at the time."

"But you have at no time during the intervening years applied for American citizens.h.i.+p?"

The chair sc.r.a.ped back and Tach was on his feet. "The Ideal grant me patience. This is absurd. I have no desire to become a citizen of your country. Your world I find compelling, and even if my s.h.i.+p were capable of hyperspatial travel I would remain because I have patients who need me. What I do not have is either the time or the inclination to bark and caper for the amus.e.m.e.nt of this ignorant tribunal. Please, carry on with your little games, but leave me to my work-"

Quinn pulled him bodily down into the chair, and laid a hand over the mike. "Just keep it up, and you'll be surveying this world from behind the walls of a federal penitentiary," he hissed. "Accept it now! These men have power over you and the means to exercise it. Now apologize, and let's see what we can salvage from this mess."

He did so, but with poor grace, and the questioning continued. It was Nixon of California who brought them to the heart of the matter.

"As I understand it, Doctor, it was your family who developed this virus that has cost so many people their lives. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I beg your pardon?"

He cleared his throat, and said more audibly this time, "Yes."

"And so you came-"

"To try and prevent its release."

"And what corroboration do you have for this claim, Tachyon?" granted Rankin.

"My s.h.i.+p's logs detailing my exchange with the crew of the other s.h.i.+p."

"And can you obtain these logs?" Nixon again.

"They're on my s.h.i.+p."

An aide skittered up onto the platform, and there was a hurried conference. "Reports indicate that your s.h.i.+p has resisted all efforts to enter."

"It was so ordered."

"Will you arrange to open it, and allow the Air Force to remove the logs?"

"No." They regarded each other for a long moment. "Will you return my s.h.i.+p, and then I'll bring you the logs?"

"No."

He fell back once more in the chair and shrugged. "Well, they wouldn't have done you much good anyway; we weren't speaking English."

"And what about these other aliens? Can we question them?" Rankin's mouth twisted as if he were regarding something peculiarly unpleasant and slimy.

"I'm afraid they're all dead." His voice dropped as he again struggled with the guilt the memories still brought. "I misjudged their determination. They fought the grappler beam, and broke up in the atmosphere."

"Very convenient. So convenient that I wonder if it wasn't planned that way?"

"It was Jetboy's failure that released the virus."

"Do not sully the name of that great American hero with your slanderous lies!" Rankin shouted, winding up into his full Southernpreacher mode. "I submit to this committee and to the nation that you have remained on this world to study the effects of your evil experiment. That those other aliens were acting as kamikazes ready to die so that you might appear a hero, and live among us accepted and revered, but that in fact you are an alien subversive seekin' to undermine this great nation by the use of these dangerous wild elements-"

"No!" He was on his feet, hands braced on the table, leaning in on his inquisitors. "No one regrets the events of '46 more than I. Yes, I failed . . . failed to stop the s.h.i.+p, failed to locate the globe, failed to convince the authorities of the danger, failed to help Jetboy, and I must live with that failure for the rest of my life! All I can do is offer myself . . . my talents, my experience working with this virus, to undo what I have created-I'm sorry . . . sorry." He broke off, choked, and sipped gratefully at the water offered by Quinn.

The heat was like a tangible thing, coiling about his body, stealing the breath from his lungs, and leaving him light-headed. He willed himself not to faint, and pulling the handkerchief from his pocket he wiped at his eyes, and knew he had made another mistake. Males in this culture were trained to suppress emotion. He had just violated another of their taboos. He dropped heavily back into the chair.

"If you are indeed repentant, Dr. Tachyon, then demonstrate it to this committee. What I require from you is a complete list of all the so-called 'aces' you have ever treated or heard about. Names . . . addresses if possible, and-"

"No."

"You would be a.s.sistin' your country."

"It's not my country, and I won't help you in your witch-hunts."

"You are in this country illegally, Doctor. Could be that it's in the best interests of this nation if you were deported. So I'd think over your answer very carefully if I were you."

"It requires no further thought . . . I will not betray my patients."

"Then the committee has no further questions of this witness."

At the front doors of the Capitol they walked full into a pale, sharp-featured man.

A tiny sound escaped Blythe, and she clutched at Tach's arm.

"Afternoon, Henry," grunted Quinn, and the alien realized that this was the husband of the woman who had shared his bed and his life for two and a half years.

He seemed familiar. Tach had been contending with this persona every time he joined with Blythe in telepathic or physical union. Granted, Henry had been relegated to an unused corner of her mind like discarded lumber in a dusty attic, but the mind was there, and it wasn't a very nice mind.

"Blythe."

"Henry."

He raked Tachyon with a cold glance. "If you would excuse us, I'd like to talk to my wife."

"No, please, don't leave me." Her fingers plucked at his coat, and he carefully freed them before she could utterly ruin the crease, and clasped her hand warmly in his.

"I think not."

The congressman gripped his shoulder, and shoved. It was an error in judgment. Small he might be, but Tachyon had studied with one of the finest personal-defense masters on Takis, and his response was almost more reflexive than conscious. He didn't bother with martial arts subtlety, just brought his knee up, nailing van Renssaeler in the nuts, and as the other man folded, his fist took him in the face. The congressman hit the ground like he'd been poleaxed, and Tach sucked at his knuckles.

Blythe's blue eyes were unfocused, staring wildly down at her husband, and Quinn was frowning like a white-haired Zeus. Several people came running to a.s.sist the fallen politician, and Quinn, recovering himself quickly, herded them down the steps.

"That was a pretty dirty blow," he rumbled as he waved down a pa.s.sing taxi. "It's not very sporting to kick a man in the b.a.l.l.s."

"I'm not interested in sporting. You fight to win, and failing that you die."

"Mighty strange world you come from if that's the code you're taught." He grunted again. "And, as if you don't have troubles enough, I can guarantee that Henry will sue for a.s.sault and battery."

"Consider yourself retained, Prescott," Blythe said, raising her head from Tach's shoulder. She was wedged tightly between the two men in the taxi, and Tach could feel the faint s.h.i.+vering that was still running through her body.

"Might be you should consider filing for divorce. Can't imagine why you didn't before now."

"The children. I knew I'd never see them if I divorced Henry."

"Well, think about it."

"Where are we going?"

"The Mayflower. Nice hotel, you'll like it."

"I want to go to the station. We're going home."

"Wouldn't advise that. My gut is telling me this isn't over yet, and my belly is an infallible indicator."

"We've given our testimony."

"But Jack and Earl are still to come, Harstein has to testify again, and there might be something that would require you to be recalled. Let's just stick until the final hurrah. It'll save you a trip back if I'm right."

Tach grudgingly agreed, sinking back against the cus.h.i.+ons to watch the city go by.

By Sunday night he was heartily sick of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., heartily sick of the Mayflower, and heartily sick of Quinn's doom and gloom prophecies. Blythe had tried to maintain the fantasy that they were having a lovely little vacation, and had dragged him about the city to gaze at marble buildings and meaningless statuary, but her dream world was shattered late Friday, when David was held to be in contempt of Congress and the case remanded to a grand jury.