![[Wildcards 10] - Double Solitaire](https://fs.collectorofbookboyfriends.com/231459/thumbs/152x264/wildcards-10-double-solitaire.jpg)
It was a moment that called for succinctness. "You were busy entertaining Finn and Dutton with tales of Jube's exotic sculptures."
"Jesus, is nothing private in this crappy town?"
"No. Now will you do as I ask?"
"Look, do this much for me. At least give me a fucking reason. I like Jube."
Tachyon unconsciously massaged the peak of her belly with her palm. The bigger she got, the better it felt. It was Jay's fascinated stare that made her aware of what she was doing. Flushing, she quickly dropped both hands into her lap and gripped them tightly.
"I have reason to believe that Jube is not a joker."
Ackroyd goggled at her. "Meaning?"
"Well, if he's not a joker, and he's not a nat... you're the detective, figure it out."
"Alien?"
Tach nodded.
"That's crazy. They don't make aliens that look like that."
"How would you know?" pointed out Tach logically.
"Well, you should know."
"It's a big universe out there."
The detective ran a hand through his brown hair. He looked distracted.
"Will you help me, Jay?" asked Tach, for the first time allowing a little of her desperation to creep into her voice. "Jube may be my last hope."
"Oh, shit."
The stench of rotting meat was overpowering. Tach clapped a hand over her mouth, ran for the john, and vomited up the contents of her stomach. After rinsing her mouth, she plucked several tissues from a box. Holding them over her nose, she cautiously reentered the bedroom.
A bare mattress covered the floor, and a hot tub filled with icy water occupied one corner. A window air conditioner was set on high, and it had obviously been blowing for a long time. The temperature in the room was arctic.
Breathing through her mouth in quick pants, Tachyon stepped into the living room of the basement apartment. The source of the stench was pans filled with steaks, all cheerfully turning green on the top of a battered old card table. But all this strangeness paled before the fantastic device that occupied the center of the room.
Jay had described it as a sculpture, modern art created by a demented mind. But it was actually future technology, built by an inventive alien mind. Tachyon watched in fascination as the tachyon transmitter seemed to shiver, and a flare of St. Elmo's fire ran the length of it.
She now had a pretty good idea what she was looking for.
Twenty minutes later she was still looking. Somewhere the Network vacu had a monitoring station. A place to spy upon this unsuspecting little world. A place to prepare the contracts that would ultimately deliver the humans into bondage.
"No," she said aloud to the interior of the closet she was inspecting. "This is my world. I will protect it." The fifty or so Hawaiian shirts were unimpressed with this impassioned little whisper.
From the front room there was a click of a well-oiled bolt snapping back. It might have been the fall of a guillotine. Tach huddled among some baggy black trousers, tried to still the frantic beating of her heart. Stomach acid raced up the back of her throat. Illyana yammered.
No, baby, thought Tach miserably, this is not a good place to be.
Maybe he wouldn't find her. Maybe he'd drop off his paper, check his phone machine, leave for a dinner with friends. But luck was not favoring the heir to the House Ilkazam. Heavy footsteps entered the room. Jube let out a belch reminiscent of a bus backfiring.
The closet door was pulled completely open. Flight was impossible. Was it too much to hope that Jube was hopelessly nearsighted?
"Jesus Christ!"
Hope withered with a tiny whine. Tach gathered dignity and outrage about herself like a queen wrapping herself in ermine. Stepped to the door. Jube had a rotting steak in one hand, and a Hawaiian shirt in the other. Tach stared at the six nipples lining the broad black chest like dainty yellow pimples. The shirt dropped to the floor, and a fat, three-fingered hand closed tight around Tach's wrist. Jube yanked her unceremoniously from the closet.
"How typically
"Jesus, is nothing private in this crappy town?"
"No. Now will you do as I ask?"
"Look, do this much for me. At least give me a fucking reason. I like Jube."
Tachyon unconsciously massaged the peak of her belly with her palm. The bigger she got, the better it felt. It was Jay's fascinated stare that made her aware of what she was doing. Flushing, she quickly dropped both hands into her lap and gripped them tightly.
"I have reason to believe that Jube is not a joker."
Ackroyd goggled at her. "Meaning?"
"Well, if he's not a joker, and he's not a nat... you're the detective, figure it out."
"Alien?"
Tach nodded.
"That's crazy. They don't make aliens that look like that."
"How would you know?" pointed out Tach logically.
"Well, you should know."
"It's a big universe out there."
The detective ran a hand through his brown hair. He looked distracted.
"Will you help me, Jay?" asked Tach, for the first time allowing a little of her desperation to creep into her voice. "Jube may be my last hope."
"Oh, shit."
The stench of rotting meat was overpowering. Tach clapped a hand over her mouth, ran for the john, and vomited up the contents of her stomach. After rinsing her mouth, she plucked several tissues from a box. Holding them over her nose, she cautiously reentered the bedroom.
A bare mattress covered the floor, and a hot tub filled with icy water occupied one corner. A window air conditioner was set on high, and it had obviously been blowing for a long time. The temperature in the room was arctic.
Breathing through her mouth in quick pants, Tachyon stepped into the living room of the basement apartment. The source of the stench was pans filled with steaks, all cheerfully turning green on the top of a battered old card table. But all this strangeness paled before the fantastic device that occupied the center of the room.
Jay had described it as a sculpture, modern art created by a demented mind. But it was actually future technology, built by an inventive alien mind. Tachyon watched in fascination as the tachyon transmitter seemed to shiver, and a flare of St. Elmo's fire ran the length of it.
She now had a pretty good idea what she was looking for.
Twenty minutes later she was still looking. Somewhere the Network vacu had a monitoring station. A place to spy upon this unsuspecting little world. A place to prepare the contracts that would ultimately deliver the humans into bondage.
"No," she said aloud to the interior of the closet she was inspecting. "This is my world. I will protect it." The fifty or so Hawaiian shirts were unimpressed with this impassioned little whisper.
From the front room there was a click of a well-oiled bolt snapping back. It might have been the fall of a guillotine. Tach huddled among some baggy black trousers, tried to still the frantic beating of her heart. Stomach acid raced up the back of her throat. Illyana yammered.
No, baby, thought Tach miserably, this is not a good place to be.
Maybe he wouldn't find her. Maybe he'd drop off his paper, check his phone machine, leave for a dinner with friends. But luck was not favoring the heir to the House Ilkazam. Heavy footsteps entered the room. Jube let out a belch reminiscent of a bus backfiring.
The closet door was pulled completely open. Flight was impossible. Was it too much to hope that Jube was hopelessly nearsighted?
"Jesus Christ!"
Hope withered with a tiny whine. Tach gathered dignity and outrage about herself like a queen wrapping herself in ermine. Stepped to the door. Jube had a rotting steak in one hand, and a Hawaiian shirt in the other. Tach stared at the six nipples lining the broad black chest like dainty yellow pimples. The shirt dropped to the floor, and a fat, three-fingered hand closed tight around Tach's wrist. Jube yanked her unceremoniously from the closet.
"How typically
Similar Books
