Jokers Wild Page 0,107

floor.

"You're not eating," Tachyon remarked gently, sneaking a glance at her almost untouched plate.

"Neither are you."

"I have an excuse."

"Which is?"

"My mouth hurts."

"That's not the real reason."

"Why should you care to hear the real reason?"

"I don't. I don't care." She looked away, but memory formed a transparent picture separating her from the room. Josiah, nostrils tightening fastidiously, superimposed over Trips's kindly face. Her baby lying like some grotesque entree on Mistrals plate.

"What's your excuse?"

That I'm going to kill-have to kill-you, and I'm losing my nerve. Would that answer satisfy you?

Brain engaged with mouth, and she heard herself say, "I'm upset about what happened today."

"Which part?" the alien asked with a grim little smile. "The Tomb, the killing."

His hand covered hers. "And you have hit on the reason for my lack of appetite. How can I eat when Kid ... I think of his parents."

The French onion soup she had eaten earlier in the evening hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed convulsively. "Excuse me," she muttered breathlessly, and pushing back her chair fled from the dining room. The curious glances felt like blows.

In the bathroom she sluiced cold water across her face, heedless of her careful makeup job, and rinsed her mouth. It helped, but could not relieve the burning knot in the pit of her stomach. Her amber eyes stared bleakly out of the mirror, fawn wide and as frightened. She studied the perfect oval of her face, the high, chiseled cheekbones, the narrow nose (legacy from some white ancestor). It looked like a normal face. How could it hide such... Her mind rebelled at the word. Not evil. It hid memories.

Memories of evil.

Whose evil? The man whose kin had brought the hellborn virus to Earth, and broken her life?

Or her own?

She rested her hands on either side of the sink, bent forward, her breath coming in quick gulps.

"He lives, Roulette."

Fear drew a whimper, and she whirled to face him. Shrank back as he laid aside a nail file left for the convenience of the female customers of Aces High. Inspected knotted veins in the back of his hand, and swiveled slowly on the small dressing-table stool to face her. It was an incongruous sight. The Astronomer dressed as an Aces High waiter, framed by double rows of theatrical lights, the back of his balding head reflected in the mirror.

"Oh my God. What are you--"

"Doing here? Apparently finishing the business that you have failed to do. Dealing a little in death. I came expecting lamentations, fear, and loathing. What do I find?-a bunch of aces feeding their faces, and talking, talking, talking."

"You can't... not here."

"Oh yes, by all means here. Starting with Tachyon."

"No! "

"Concern?"

"He's... he's mine."

"Then, why haven't you killed him?" He had lost the jovial tone, his voice grating like rock across sandpaper. He came off the chair, the action made all the more menacing for its slowness.

"I-" Her voice didn't work, and she tried again. "I'm toying with him."

"What a dramatic-almost melodramatic-phrase. Toying with him," he repeated thoughtfully. His hand shot out, caught her by the throat. "Well, don't toy with him! Kill him!" Spittle wetted her cheek, and she twisted in his grasp.

The hand tightened, larynx aching under the pressure, blood rushing, beating in her ears. Roulette clawed at his hand, begging for mercy, but only mewling sounds emerged.

He threw her contemptuously aside, and she came up hard against the edge of a toilet bowl.

"You can't make me. Fear of you won't be enough."

"True. I wish you would recognize the wisdom of what I've told you. Only your hate will free you. Only if you release the acid of your soul can you be at peace."

She dug her fingers into her temples. "I don't know what I hate worse. Your threats or your pop psychology."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Only that ultimate catharsis can save you from a lifetime of memory"

He tore aside his carefully constructed mental shields, gripped and broke a part of her mind. The pictures fluttered past behind her eyes. Nurse's hand hard on her chest, forcing her back. "Don't look." She looked. MONSTER! It lay in an incubator mewling out its life. Hidden away. Four days of watching it die. Disgust becoming love becoming hate. Nurses hand hard on her chest, forcing

And so it went. A never-ending replay of a nightmare. "Kill him, and it stops."

"Oh God! I don't believe you!" Her fingers writhed in her hair.

"That's unfortunate. For you really don't have any other option."

"Is it time yet?"