"I don't know what to say to you. It's very strange."
"What is?"
"Finding out about you. Now I'm not so special anymore, which bothers me, but it's also good to know..." He considered.
"That you're not alone," suggested Tach gently. "Yes, that's it."
"Why do you help them?"
"Because they are right. The old institutions must fall."
"But people have died."
"Yes," he agreed sunnily. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"Oh, no. They were bourgeois capitalist pigs and deserved to die. Sometimes killing is the only way."
"A very Takisian attitude."
"You will help us, won't you? It will be fun."
"Fun!"
It's his upbringing, Tach consoled himself. Endow any child with this kind of unsupervised power and they would react the same.
They talked. Tachyon pieced together a picture of unfettered freedom, virtually no formal schooling, the excitement of playing hide-and-seek with the authorities. More chilling was the realization that Blaise did not withdraw from his victims when they died. Rather he rode through the terror and pain of their final moment.
There will be time to correct this, he promised himself. "So will you help?" Blaise asked, hopping down from the chair. "Uncle Claude said to be sure and ask you." Seconds stretched into minutes as he considered. The noble course would be to tell Bonnell to go to hell. He considered Bonnell's gently worded threats and shuddered. He had been bred and trained to seize the opportunity, to turn defeat into victory. He would trust to that. Surely they could not guard him as closely at the rally.
"Tell Claude that I will help." An exuberant hug.
Alone, Tachyon continued to reflect. He did have one other advantage. Jack... who would surely realize something had gone terribly wrong and alert the Sfirete. But his hope was founded on a man whose weakness was well known tohim, and his fears on a man who, despite his civilized exterior, possessed no humanity.
Coming up on twenty-four hours since the little bastard had disappeared. Jack swung at the wall, pulled the punch just in time. Knocking out a wall at the Ritz wasn't going to help.
Was Tachyon in trouble?
Despite his promise, had he gone off with Bonnell? And did that necessarily mean trouble? Was it possible he was merely playing hooky with his grandkid?
If he was out visiting the zoo or whatever and Jack alerted the Sfirete, and they found out about Blaise, Tachyon would never forgive him. It would be another betrayal. Maybe his last one. The Takisian would find a way to get even this time.
But if he's really in trouble?
A knock pulled him from his distracted thoughts. One of Hartmann's interchangeable aides stood in the hall.
"Mr. Braun, the senator would like to invite you to join him at the debate tomorrow"
"Debate? What debate?"
"All one thousand and eleven"-a condescending little laugh-"or however many candidates there are in this crazy race, will be taking part in a round-robin debate in the Luxembourg Gardens. The senator would like as many of the tour as possible to be there. To show support for this great European democracy-such as it is. Mr. Braun ... are you all right?"
"Fine, yeah, I'm fine. You tell the senator I'll be there."
"And Doctor Tachyon? The senator's very concerned by his continued absence."
"I think I can safely promise the senator that the doctor will be there too."
Closing the door, Jack quickly crossed to the phone and put in a call for Rochambeau. A probable terrorist attack on the candidates. No need to mention the child. Just an urgent need to call out the troops.
And a long night of praying he had guessed correctly. That he had made the right choice.
He should be sleeping, preparing mind and body for the morrow. His life and the future of his line depended upon his skill and speed and cunning.
And on Jack Braun. Ironic that.
If Jack had drawn the correct conclusion. If he had alerted the Sfirete. If there were sufficient officers. If Tachyon could stretch his talent beyond all limits and hold an unheard of number of minds.
He sat up on the rickety cot and hugged his stomach. Sank back and tried to relax. But it was a night for memories. Faces out of the past. Blythe, David, Earl, Dani.
I'm gambling my life and the life of my grandchild on the man who destroyed Blythe. Lovely.
But the possibility of dying can act as a spur for selfexamination. Force a person to strip away the comforting, insulating little lies that buffer one from their most private guilts and regrets.