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With Puppetman, he could have written a happy ending. Ellen got into the car and slumped back against the seat. They drove away.
12:00 NOON
The maitre d' was waiting in vain for his C-note. The hotel had emptied out, and the Bello Mondo was no longer crowded.
Jack had brought Tachyon to lunch, but he couldn't make him eat. Half a sole filet was abandoned on the plate. Jack finished off his New York cut.
"Eat, eat, my child. As my mom used to say in German."
"I'm not hungry."
"Build up your strength."
Tach glared at him. "Of the two of us," he said, "Which one is the doctor?"
"Which one of us is the patient?"
Tachyon's answer was stony silence. Jack took a drinkbourbon at last. Tachyon's violet eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Jack. My anxiety has rubbed away my ma
"That's okay."
"I owe you my thanks. For this. For trying to find Blaise."
"I only wish I could find him." Jack put his elbows on the table and sighed. "I'd like something good to come out of everything we've been through."
"There might be something."
"A George Bush presidency, that's for sure." Jack stared at his plate. "That's the last political activity you're going to see from me. Every time I try to change the world, everything goes into the crapper."
Tachyon shook his head. "I have no thoughts to comfort you, Jack."
"All I did was screw up. I even died for god's sake. And the one thing I did right, I did for the wrong man." He took another drink. "I guess I'm about as confused as I've ever been. Hell " Another drink. "At least I'm rich. In this world, you can always fall back on money."
Jack leaned back against the cushion. "Maybe I'll write my memoirs. Get it all down. Then I'll maybe know what it means, if anything."
Memoirs, he thought. God, was he already that old? When Jetboy died, he'd been twenty-two and looking younger. He hadn't aged since then.
At least he'd seen a few things. Been a movie star. Changed the world, back before the roof fell in. Saved a lot of lives in Korea, and that was after he'd become a world-class fuckup. He'd even seen The Jolson Story.
As good a place as any, he reflected, to start his memoirs. When Jetboy died, I was watching The Jolson Story.
No one said anything for a long while. Jack realized that Tachyon had drowsed off. He paid the tab, then pushed the wheelchair out of the restaurant and headed for the elevators. On the way Jack saw the man who'd been selling gliders in the mall, table folded and his merchandise in a pair of paper sacks, talking to a friend. Jack parked the chair, then bought the entire line. When he came back, carrying his gliders, he saw that Tachyon was awake. He held up the gliders. "For Blaise," he said. "When we find him."
"Bless you, Jack."
For the first time in a week, Jack got an elevator right away. He pressed Tachyon's floor and the surge of vertigo as the glass elevator took off almost took him off his feet. To keep his mind off heights, he began assembling a glider.
A foam Earl Sanderson looked sternly at him from behind his flying goggles. Jack wondered dimly if, even after all these years, he had anything at all to say to Earl.
Besides an apology, of course. Better start with the basics. The elevator lurched, and Jack's stomach lurched with it. The doors opened, and with a shock Jack saw David Harstein step into the elevator.
Tachyon was rolling a guilty white-rimmed eye at him. Jack had a feeling his own face held the same expression of stupid, overdone i
"You know," Tachyon said. "You know?" Jack replied.
"Hey, we all know," corrected David with hearty bonhomie.
The glass box lurched for the sky. Jack's stomach lurched with it. He could feel the sweat popping out on his forehead. He searched for something to say.
The elevator slammed to a stop again. The door opened and Fleur van Renssaeler stepped aboard, looking over her shoulder and waving goodbye to a friend. The door closed, and Fleur turned.
Everyone stopped breathing for a long moment. The elevator staggered upward. Suddenly Tachyon lashed out with his right arm, striking the STOP button with his bandaged stump.
The alien let out an animal-like howl of pain. David knelt quickly by the wheelchair as the elevator jerked to a halt. "Hush, it doesn't hurt."
And of course it didn't. Or at least it didn't matter.
Tachyon blinked hard to clear the moisture from his eyes.
"David Harstein," said Fleur, her voice expressionless.
Tach felt a chill go through him.
"Just now I remembered from when I was little." Fleur gave a thin smile. "The man who lost China to the Reds. And all these years you've just been hiding under that beard."
Smiling again, she turned to Jack. "An old friend of the family," she said scornfully.
The big ace yanked out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said weakly. The glider of Earl Sanderson held limp, forgotten in Jack's hand. Tachyon reached out, and took it. He laid it gently in his lap.
"I count myself in nothing else so happy," David said, "as in a soul remembering my good friends."
Tach looked up at him. "Yes, all the ghosts have gathered."
Fleur stared hollow eyed at Tachyon. "I am not my mother!"
"You have your father's eyes," David said, his voice gentle.
It was a simple statement. No accusation. No hidden meaning. It left her confused, uncertain, the belligerence draining out of her. "You don't know me," Fleur whispered. "No," David said. "Sadly."
For a moment Fleur looked like she wanted to hug him. In fact, Tachyon wanted to hug him. Silence spun like cobwebs between the four of them. Fleur stared into David's compassionate dark eyes. Tears welled up, and spilled slowly down her cheeks. But the fear came back. She pressed her hands against her cheeks, and backed away. "No, don't do this to me."
Tachyon sighed. "We must speak, Fleur."
"I'm going to scream." Her voice was a frightened thread. "Please don't," David said. "You have nothing to be afraid of. "
Fleur quieted, but still managed to say, "No, I do have something to be afraid of. I'm alone with all of you."
"Are we so fearsome?" David asked. "An old actor, a one-handed man
…" He glanced back at Jack. "… and a weenie."
"Hey," Jack began, but then he paused and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he considered and then acknowledged the truth of Harstein's words.
Fleur hugged her elbows. "You don't understand. You honestly don't understand, do you?" The three men stared at her. "You stand there with these powers that can hurt us and twist us, and you wonder why we're afraid."
Jack looked with some confusion at the glider in Tach's hands. He spoke slowly, reaching hard for each word. "I think Earl would say you can't be afraid of people just because they're different, because you can never draw a clear line. Do you fear them because they've got the wild card, or because they have different beliefs, or because they have the wrong color skin…?"
"I fear them because they can hurt me," Fleur insisted. "There are a lot of people who can hurt you," Jack said, "and very few of them have the wild card."
"Easy to say, when you're one of those who do," Fleur replied. "You know what you call the rest of us. The nats. Naturals, that's what it's supposed to be short for, but there's another meaning. Gnats. Little insects. Little bothersome insects waiting to be swatted by you. We're supposed to obey the laws, and treat you nicely. But those same laws don't apply to you. You don't have to be nice to gnats. Not with all your power."
"Fleur," said David. "You have all the power here. You hold my life in your hands."
Fleur hesitated a long time, looking at him. The wailing of the alarm was like an ice pick in the brain. "You don't have to worry," she said at last. "You're safe from me."