of killing a man merely for being successful." She hunched a shoulder. "Please, get to the point."
"I'd lost my powers."
"What? You never told us."
" I was afraid of losing my mystique if I had."
" I don't believe you."
"It's true. Because of Jack's cowardice." His face darkened. "The HUAC returned Blythe to the stand. They were demanding the names of all known aces, and because she had my mind, she knew. She was about to betray them, so I used my power to stop her and in so doing broke her mind and left the woman I loved a raving maniac." He raised trembling fingertips to his damp forehead. The retelling in this of all cities infused it with new power, new pain.
"It took years for me to overcome my guilt, and it was the Turtle who showed me how. I destroyed one woman, but saved another. Does that balance the scales?" He was speaking more to himself than to her.
But she was not interested in his ancient pain; her own memories were too intense. "Lena was so angry. She called you a disgusting user, taking and taking and giving nothing in return. Everyone wanted you out because you had so spoiled our beautiful plan."
"Yes, and not one person took my side! Not even Earl." His expression softened, as he looked past the ruin of age, to the beautiful girl he remembered. "No, that's not true. You defended me."
"Yes," she admitted gruffly. "Little good that it did. It took me years to regain the respect of my comrades." She stared blindly down at the tabletop.
Tachyon glanced at the watch in his boot heel, rose. "Dani, I must go. The delegation is due at Versailles by eight, and I must change. It's been..." He tried again. "I'm so glad that you contacted me." The words seemed stilted and insincere even to his own ears.
Her face crumpled, then stiffened into bitter lines. "That's it? Forty minutes and au revoir you wouldn't even drink with me?"
"I'm sorry, Dani. My schedule--"
"Ah, yes, the great man." The pile of bills still lay between them on the table. "Well, I'll take these as an example of your noblesse oblige."
She lifted up a shapeless bag and fished out a billfold. Scooped up the francs and jammed them into the battered wallet. Then paused and stared at one photo. A cruel little smile played about her wrinkled lips.
"No, better yet. I'll give you value for your money." Gnarled, arthritic fingers pulled free the picture and tossed it onto the table.
It was a breathtaking still of a young woman. A river of red hair half masking the narrow, shadowed face. A mischievous, knowing look in the uptilted eyes. A delicate forefinger pressed against a full lower lip as if shushing the onlooker.
"Who is she?" Tach asked, but with a breath-stopping certainty that he knew the answer.
"My daughter." Their eyes locked. Dani's smile broadened. "And yours."
"Mine." The word emerged as a wondering, joyful sigh. Suddenly all the weariness and anguish of the trip sloughed away. He had witnessed horrors. Jokers stoned to death in the slums of Rio. Genocide in Ethiopia. Oppression in South Africa. Starvation and disease everywhere. It had left him feeling hopeless and defeated. But if she walked this planet, then it could be borne. Even the anguish over his impotence faded. With the loss of his virility he had lost a major part of himself. Now it had been returned to him.
"Oh, Dani, Dani!" He reached across and gripped her hand. "Our daughter. What is her name?"
"Gisele."
"I must see her. Where is she?"
"Rotting. She's dead."
The words seemed to shatter in the air, sending ice fragments deep into his soul. A cry of anguish was torn from him, and he wept, tears dropping through his fingers. Danelle walked away.
Versailles, the greatest tribute to the divine right of kings ever constructed. Tachyon, heels tapping on the parquet floor, paused and surveyed the scene through the distorting crystal of his champagne glass. For an instant he might have been home, and the longing that gripped him was almost physical in its intensity._
There is indeed no beauty to this world. I wish I could leave it forever.
No, not true, he amended as his gaze fell upon the faces of his friends. There is much here still to love.
One of Hartmann's polished aides was at his shoulder. Was this the one fortunate enough to have survived the kidnapping in Germany, or had he been flown in specially to serve as cannon fodder