ran up to the front of the Famous Bowery Wild Card Dime Museum.
"Jack! Jack, it is you, am I not right?"
A familiar voice, any familiar voice in the Village's circus atmosphere today was a shock. Jack turned and saw a handsome man, half a head taller than he, looking down at him.
"Hello, Jean-Jacques," Jack said. Jean-Jacques had arrived from Senegal six years ago. He worked part of the time as a waiter at the Simba on Sixth Avenue at Eighth, and the rest of the time as a tutor for foreign students learning English at the New School. Jack had never seen a man with more striking features. "Listen," he said to the other. "I need some help." He took out Cordelia's snapshot.
Jean-Jacques nodded, but seemed distracted. "Anything, my friend. Anything at all."
Jack knew there was something wrong. "What is it?"
"Nothing to be of concern." Jean-Jacques looked away toward the pedestrians moving briskly past them. The early afternoon sun shone on his skin so that the deep black shone almost blue.
"I doubt that." Jack put a hand on the man's shoulder, conscious of the warm vitality radiating through the bright pattern. "Tell me."
Jean-Jacques looked back at Jack, his penetrating gaze meeting Jack's eyes. "It is the retrovirus," he said. "It is the killer. I have just been to see my doctor. The diagnosis was unfortunately positive." He sighed. "Quite positive."
"Retrovirus?" said Jack. "You mean the wild card--"
"No." Jean-Jacques interrupted him. "The surer killer." The word seemed to stick in his throat. "AIDS."
"Mother of Jesus," said Jack. "I am sorry." He started closer to Jean-Jacques, caught himself for just a second, then went ahead and embraced the man. "I'm very sorry."
Jean-Jacques gently pushed Jack away. "I understand," he said simply. "You are not the first I have told. Already they are treating me like one of the damnable jokers." He shut his eyes sadly, then opened them and said, "Don't worry, old friend. You are all right. I know who it was." He shut his eyes again. "And I know when it was." His head began to shake slightly and Jack again embraced him. This time, Jean-Jacques did not push him immediately away.
"I think you are on a mission," Jean-Jacques said. "Tell me what you are seeking, and if I can help, I shall."
Jack hesitated, then told him about Cordelia. The Senegalese inspected the photograph. "A very beautiful young lady." He glanced at Jack. "You share the same eyes." Then he handed back the picture. "Go," he said. "Continue your search. As I said, if I observe anything that could be of use to you, I will let you know."
There was nothing more to say, but Jack remained there beside Jean-Jacques.
"Go," Jean-Jacques repeated. He smiled slightly. "Good fortune." Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
"This is your important stop?" Roulette asked, eyeing the decaying wall of a riverfront warehouse. Tachyon had dismissed Riggs several blocks away, and a brisk sweat-raising walk had ended here.
He glanced back over his shoulder as his slender hands opened the large shiny padlock. His expression was one of suppressed excitement and mischief, rather like a little boy about to show off his collection of tadpoles. And she suddenly realized that he was very young. Because of mutation and their obsession with the life sciences, the Takisian life span was vastly longer than the human. Tachyon at eighty-something was a graybeard by Earth standards, but only verging on manhood by Takisian norms. It explained a lot.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and he waved her through. Her sharp retreat brought her up hard against his chest.
"Don't be afraid."
"My God, what?" She glanced cautiously at the glowing monstrosity squatting in the center of the empty, echoing room. It looked rather like a wentletrap seashell, but the tips of its gray spines were set with glowing amber and purple lights. It also seemed to be resting in a glittering whirlpool, for dust was spiraling in toward the creature.
"The ship."
"What?"
"Your ship," she amended quickly. "Yes, Baby."
"Baby?"
"Uh huh." Tachyon's lilac eyes rested lovingly on the ship, and Roulette's shields (painstakingly erected by the Astronomer) responded to a nearby telepathic communication.
"She's frustrated. She tried to say hello to you, but you have shields." He cocked his head to one side, seriously regarding her. "Strange. Most humans..." A quick shake of the head. "Well, come inside."
"I... I'd rather not."
"She won't hurt you."
"It's not that."
"What then?"
She hunched her shoulders and walked toward the ship, though it felt like a betrayal. Sometime