IV
BABY, YOUR MASTER IS an idiot.
No, Master.
Yes, Baby.
Blaise lay curled among the tumbled pillows on the vast canopy bed that almost filled the bridge/stateroom aboard Tachyon’s yacht. Two of the curving pearlescent walls presented a miniature schematic of New York City. Different-colored lines connected red markers. The third wall broke down the location of wild card cases by building and business. Chase Manhattan Bank Jokertown branch, three apartment buildings (one of which was in Harlem), Top Hat cleaners on the Bowery, restaurants, bars, drugstores, department stores.
It’s a human vector.
Tachyon rose from the floor and dusted the seat of his pants, sensing irritation from his ship at this slur on her housekeeping. Sometimes ships had a skewed sense of priorities. An imputation of dust was far more significant than the announcement that a Typhoid Mary was threatening Manhattan.
Have I done well, Master?
Extraordinarily well. I just wish I had not been so slow to see.
“Blaise, kuket, we’re going now. Put your arm around my neck. Good lad.”
He carried the child out of the ship. Pausing at the door of the warehouse, he fumbled with the lock and struggled with his sleeping burden. Tachyon was a small man, and his grandson already showed every indication that he would tower over his tiny forebear.
Into the sultry night. Two A.M. He could imagine what Victoria Queen was going to say to him when he woke her at this hour. But it had to be discussed, and with people he could trust. Somewhere a human contagion slept or walked the streets of New York.
His arms tightened convulsively about the boy as the realization struck. No one was safe. While Blaise was playing in the park, walking to the clinic, eating in a restaurant, this monstrous sickness could pass by and endanger his child, his line, his future. He almost turned back to the ship. This evil could not pass Baby. He chided himself for hysteria. There were millions of people in greater Manhattan. What chance of actually encountering the carrier?
Depended upon the identity of the carrier.
And how to establish that? Ideal, it was probably a hopeless task.
“This is absolutely hopeless,” said Victoria Queen.
“Thank you for that incredibly helpful observation.” The chief of surgery and Tachyon exchanged sizzling glares.
Chrysalis flicked a nail against the rim of her glass, pulling out a single ringing tone. Finn took another bite of raw Quaker Oats.
“We interview the family and friends of every victim. We interview the surviving victims. We search for the common thread, some individual they all recall,” said Tachyon.
“It would be an incredible long shot that any of them would remember,” sighed Finn.
Tachyon turned the full blazing force of his lilac eyes on his assistant. “So are you suggesting that we wait and hope that this person notices that people are dying like flies all around him or her? And even that won’t help.” Tach shook his head as if disgusted by his own facetiousness. “The incubation period appears to be around twenty-four hours. This carrier, whoever it is, can have no notion of their power.”
“Power,” snorted Chrysalis.
“Yes, power. Clearly this person’s wild card gift is to give wild card. The person probably contracted the virus during this latest outbreak. If it had happened earlier, we would have been facing this crisis months or even years ago.”
“Doc.” Finn tossed his heavy forelock out of his face. “This has to mean that the virus is mutating.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’re correct. Dr. Corvisart will be ecstatic.”
“Who?” asked Queen.
“A French researcher who was absolutely convinced that the virus was mutating. I tried to explain to him that there’s only been one case of a constantly mutating virus, and that’s because it is this man’s power—”
“What? What is it?” asked Finn sharply at Tachyon’s frozen expression.
The alien relaxed his frenzied grip on the edge of the desk. He and Chrysalis met each other’s gaze. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“Ohhh, yes.”
“Then why not enlighten those of us who aren’t thinking,” snapped Queen bitterly, who then flushed and quickly added, “In the peculiar way you think.”
“There is one individual in this city who’s an old hand at wild card. Who is reinfected with the virus every time he sleeps. How many times has he transformed over the past forty years? A dozen? Twenty? Thirty?”
“It would be the most unbelievable coincidence,” warned Chrysalis.
“I agree, but it has to be investigated.” Tachyon pushed to his feet.
Finn lurched to his feet. “Sleep?”
“Yes,” said Tachyon rather impatiently.
The tiny centaur gave a long shake that began at his head, vibrated to his tail, and pulled a deep-throated groan from his lungs.
“He was here.”
“WHAT!”
“Back in March. He came in to see you, but you weren’t back yet. He was high on speed, and apparently he’d promised some girl he wouldn’t go out with her cranked. He wanted help. I put him to sleep.”
“How for the Ideal’s sake? This could be critical.”
“Brain entrainment and suggestion.”
“When did he wake and leave?”
“Um, mid-May.”
“May! And you didn’t tell me!”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“He’s been awake a month,” Chrysalis said to Tachyon.
“Do you still want us to do those interviews?” asked Queen.
“Yes, it might help us pinpoint his present physical form. I don’t suppose you saw him when he left?”
“No, one morning he just wasn’t there.”
“Where did you stash him?” asked Chrysalis curiously.
“In the janitor’s closet.”
“Have we lost any janitors?” asked Tachyon with graveyard humor.
“We were lucky, incredibly lucky,” muttered Finn, crossing himself.
“People, this has got to be kept absolutely confidential. Can you imagine the panic if wind of this reaches the general populace?”
“Sooner or later the authorities are going to have to be informed,” objected Queen.
“Not if Chrysalis and I succeed.”
“I hate it when you’re smug.”
“Tachyon, she’s got a point. We’re going to feel like absolute shit if we can’t find Croyd, or we find him and he’s not the one. How many more people are going to die, Tachyon?” asked Chrysalis.
Tachyon splashed a liberal dollop of cognac into a glass, raised the blinds, and watched the sun trying valiantly to struggle through the layers of mist and smog.
“I think I’m justified in trying this alone first. What would I say to the mayor? Well, Your Honor, we think there’s a wild card carrier. We think it’s Croyd Crenson. No, sir, we don’t know what he looks like because he changes every time he sleeps.”
“I don’t suppose we could try anything simple and silly like running ads on the radio and in the papers—‘Croyd phone home’?” suggested Finn.
“Why not? I’m willing to try anything. The real question is how many amphetamines he’s eaten in the past weeks.” He turned away from the window to face Chrysalis. “You know what he’s like toward the end of an episode.”
“He’s a psychotic,” said Chrysalis bluntly.
“And usually paranoid, so if he starts hearing or reading ads, he’s going to assume they’re after him.” The Takisian sighed. “And he’d be right.”
Tachyon poured another drink and pulled a face as the brandy washed down.
“Great breakfast,” said the owner of the Palace dryly.
“I’ll break an egg in it if that will make you feel any better.”
“You’ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard recently.”
“You tell him,” muttered Queen under her breath.
Tachyon glared at both of them. “Not to sound too terribly trite, but I have been under a great deal of pressure recently.”
“You were an alcoholic, Tachyon. You shouldn’t be drinking at all,” said Chrysalis.
“Blood and Bone, what has gotten into you? One would think you’d joined a temperance league. Going to be down at Father Squid’s beating on a tambourine? You’re a saloonkeeper, Chrysalis.”
He watched the increased wash of blood into those transparent cheeks. “I care, Tachyon, don’t make me regret that. You’re important to Jokertown.” She plucked nervously at the arm of her chair. “Maybe even to the nation. Don’t crap out on us and crawl back in a bottle. You’ve got the prestige to stand against crime bosses, and … other things. Nobody else in this fucking freak show has that.”
Bitterness edged each word. He knew what it cost her to make that admission. She had a pride of self and place that rivaled his. Slowly he walked to her, forced himself to bend and place his cheek against hers. He couldn’t help the involuntary closing of his eyes, but it wasn’t as bad as he expected. Her skin, invisible though it was, was warm and soft. She could be any lovely woman. As long as his eyes were closed.
He stepped back and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Send out word to your network. This has to take precedence over anything else.”
“Even the Fists and the Gambiones?”
“Yes. What profiteth us to gain Jokertown if we lose the whole bloody world?”
“I’ll save you a tambourine.”
“No, I want to be the whole damn trumpet section.”
“Why am I not surprised?” said Queen to Finn.
