Aces Abroad

"My, dear." Tachyon bowed over Peregrine's hand, kissed it, and nodded greetings to everyone else. It was common knowledge that he was hot over the glamorous flyer, but then, Chrysalis reflected, most men were. Tachyon, however, was self-confident enough to be determined in his pursuit, and thickheaded enough not to call it off, even after numerous polite rebuffs on Peregrine's part.

"How was the meeting with Dr. Tessier?" Peregrine asked, removing her hand delicately from Tachyon's grasp when he showed no inclination of letting it go on his own.

Tachyon frowned, whether in disappointment at Peregrine's continuing coolness or in remembrance of his visit to the Haitian hospital, Chrysalis couldn't tell.

"Dreadful," he murmured, "simply dreadful." He caught the eye of a waiter and gestured him over. "Bring me something cool, with lots of rum in it." He looked around the table. "Anyone else?"

Chrysalis tinged a red-painted fingernail-it looked like a rose petal floating on bone against her empty cordial glass. "Yes. And more, um?"

"Amaretto."

"Amaretto for the lady there."

The waiter sidled up to Chrysalis and slipped the glass out from in front of her without making eye contact. She could feel his fear. It was fu

… by the Ideal, everything else…"

"What do you mean?" Peregrine asked.

"You were there. That hospital was as crowded as a Jokertown bar on Saturday night and about as sanitary. Typhus patients were cheek to jowl with tuberculosis patients and elephantiasis patients and AIDS patients and patients suffering from half a hundred other diseases that have been eradicated everywhere else in the civilized world. As I was having a private chat with the hospital administrator, the electricity went out twice. I tried to call the hotel, but the phones weren't working. Dr. Tessier told me that they're low on blood, antibiotics, painkillers, and just about all medicinals. Fortunately, Tessier and many of the other doctors are masters at utilizing the medicinal properties of native Haitian flora. Tessier showed me a thing or two he's done with distillations from common weeds and such that was remarkable. In fact, someone should write an article on the drugs they've concocted. Some of their discoveries deserve widespread attention in the outside world. But for all their efforts, all their dedication, they're still losing the fight." The waiter brought Tachyon's drink in a tall slim glass garnished with slices of fresh fruit and a paper umbrella. Tachyon threw out the fruit and paper umbrella and swallowed half his drink in a single gulp. " I have never seen such misery and suffering."

"Welcome to the Third World," Ray said.

"Indeed." Tachyon finished off his drink and fixed Chrysalis with his lilac-colored eyes.

"Now, what was that disturbance in front of the hotel?" Chrysalis shrugged. "The driver started beating the beggars with a stick-"

"A cocomacaques."

"I beg your pardon?" Tachyon said, turning to Ray. "It's called a cocomacaques. It's a walking stick, polished with oil. Hard as an iron bar. A real nasty weapon." There was approval in Ray's voice. "The Tonton Macoute carry them."

"What?" three voices asked simultaneously.

Ray smiled a smile of superior knowledge. "Tonton Macoute. That's what the peasants call them. Essentially means `bogeyman.' Officially they're called the VSN, the Volontaires de la Securite Nationale." Ray had an atrocious accent. "They're Duvalier's secret police, headed by a man named Charlemagne Calixte. He's black as a coal mine at midnight and ugly as sin. Somebody tried to poison him once. He lived through it, but it scarred his face terribly. He's the only reason Baby Doc's still in power."

"Duvalier has his secret police acting as our chaffeurs?" Tachyon asked, astonished. "Whatever for?"

Ray looked at him as if he were a child. "So they can watch us. They watch everybody. It's their job." Ray laughed a sudden, barking laugh. "They're easy enough to spot. They all have dark sunglasses and wear blue suits. Sort of a badge of office. There's one over there."

Ray gestured to the far corner of the lounge. The Tonton Macoute sat at an otherwise empty table, a bottle of rum and half-filled glass in front of him. Even though the lounge was dimly lit, he had on dark glasses, and his blue suit was as unkempt as any of Dorian Wilde's.

"I'll see about this," Tachyon said, outrage in his voice. He started to stand, but settled back in his chair as a large, scowling man came into the lounge and strode straight toward their table.

"It's him," Ray whispered. "Charlemagne Calixte."

He didn't have to tell them. Calixte was a dark-ski

"Bon jour." He bowed a precise little bow. His voice was a deep, hideous rasp, as if the poison that had eaten away the side of his face had also affected his tongue and palate.

"Bon jour," Tachyon replied for them all, bowing a precise millimeter less than Calixte had.

"My name is Charlemagne Calixte," he said in gravelly tones barely louder than a whisper. "President-for-Life Duvalier has charged me with seeing to your safety while you are visiting our island."

"Join us," Tachyon offered, indicating the final empty chair.

Calixte shook his head as precisely as he'd bowed. "Regretfully, Msie Tachyon, I ca

"Tonton," Ray said.

Tachyon glanced at him. "Of course. The Tonton whatevers, your men, that is, are watching us."

Calixte gave him a look of polite astonishment. "Why to protect you from that very sort of thing that happened earlier this afternoon."

"Protect me? He wasn't protecting me," Chrysalis said. "He was beating beggars."

Calixte stared at her. "They may have looked like beggars, but many undesirable elements have come into the city." He looked around the almost empty room, then husked in a barely intelligible whisper, "Communist elements, you know. They are unhappy with the progressive regime of President-for-Life Duvalier and have threatened to topple his government. No doubt these `beggars' were communist agitators trying to provoke an incident."

Chrysalis kept quiet, realizing nothing she could say would make any difference. Tachyon was also looking unhappy, but decided not to pursue the matter at this time. After all, they would only be in Haiti one more day before traveling to the Dominican Republic on the other side of the island. "Also," Calixte said with a smile as ugly as his scar, "I am to inform you that di

"And after di

"Excuse me?"

"Is anything pla

"But of course. Several entertainments have been arranged. There is shopping at the Marche de Fer-the Iron Market-for locally produced handicrafts. The Musee National will stay open late for those who wish to explore our cultural heritage. You know," Calixte said, "we have on display the anchor from the Santa Maria, which ran aground on our shores during Columbus's first expedition to the New World. Also, of course, galas have been pla