Aces High Page 0,100

took the final two steps in a long leap. And was brought up short by an expanse of pink. A waistcoat, Tach identified before his view was broken by a gladiolus thrust firmly beneath his nose. Tach looked up and up, and realized he was facing a stranger . . . and there was danger, or the potential of danger, in every stranger. Three quick steps back carried him out of range of all but a gun or some esoteric ace power, and he warily studied the apparition.

The man was very tall, his scrawny height exaggerated by the enormously tall purple stovepipe hat crammed down onto long, lank blond hair. A coat, also purple, hung from narrow shoulders, and set-to Tach's mind-a lovely contrast to the orange and violet paisley shirt and green trunks. The grinning scarecrow once more proferred the flower.

"Like, I'm Captain Trips, man," he offered, and stood swaying and beaming like a drunken lighthouse. Fascinated,

Tachyon stared up into pale blue eyes swimming behind lenses that looked as if they'd been knocked off the bottom of Coke bottles. Unable to construct anything coherent to say, Tach merely accepted the flower.

"That's not really my name, man," the Captain confided in a stage whisper that would have carried to the end of Carnegie Hall. "I'm an ace so I gotta have a secret identity, you know?" The Captain ran a bony hand across his mouth, smoothing the slightly stained mustache and the scraggly wisp of beard. "Oh wow, like, I can't believe it. Dr. Tachyon in person. I really admire you, man."

Tach, never one to pass up a compliment, was pleased, but also aware of the passing time. He jammed the flower into his coat pocket, and surged back into motion, his newfound companion falling in beside him. There was a good feeling about the man which washed off him with the faint odor of ginseng, sandalwood, and old sweat, but Tach couldn't shake the feeling that the Captain was an amiable lunatic. Digging his hand into the pockets of his midnight-blue breeches, he cast Trips a sideways glance, and decided that he had to say something. He obviously wasn't going to be rid of the man anytime soon. "So, was there any particular reason for your seeking me out?"

"Well, I think I need advice. Like, you know, it seemed you were the person to ask." The man's hands sought out the gigantic green bow tie with its yellow polka dots, and gave it a hard tug as if he found it confining. "I'm not really Captain Trips."

"Yes, I know, you said that," replied Tach, clinging to his now-fast-vanishing patience.

"I'm really Mark Meadows. Dr. Mark Meadows. Like, we have a lot in common, man."

"You can't be serious," blurted Tach, and instantly regretted his rudeness.

The gawky figure seemed to pull in on itself, losing inches. "I am, man, really."

Ten years ago Mark Meadows had been considered the most brilliant biochemist in the world, the Einstein of his field. There had been a dozen different explanations for his sudden retirement: stress, personality deterioration, the breakup of his marriage, drug abuse. But to think that young giant had been reduced to this shambling--

"I've been, like, lookin' for the Radical, man."

Memory snapped down; 1970?, the riot in People's Park when a mysterious ace had appeared on the scene, rescued the Lizard King, and vanished, never to be seen again.

"You're not the only one. I tried to locate him in '70, but he never reappeared."

"Yeah, it's a real bummer," the Captain concurred mournfully. "I had him once . . . well, I think I had him once, but I haven't been able to get him back, so maybe I didn't. Maybe it's just, like, wishful thinking, man."

"You're claiming to be the Radical?" Disbelief sent Tach's voice up several octaves.

"Oh no, man, 'cause I got no proof. I made these powders, trying to find him, to get him back, but when I eat them I get these other people."

"Other people?" Tach repeated in an unnaturally calm tone.

"Yeah, my friends, man."

Tachyon was certain now. He had a nut on his hands. If only he had sent for the limousine. He began casting about for a way to dump his unwelcome companion and get to his meeting before they cancelled his grant or the Ideal only knew what else. . . . He spotted an alley that he knew would cut through to a taxi stand. Surely there he could be rid--

Trips was rambling again. "You're sorta like