“So I should just lie back and enjoy it?”

“You know goddamn well I’m not suggesting that. Look, I’m sorry, we’re all sorry, for what happened to you. But being female is not the big tragedy you’re presenting. And maybe while you’ve got this opportunity for an in-depth analysis of the female condition, you might want to take a few notes!”

“What are you saying? That I am insensitive to women?”

“Yes. People always got sidetracked by your flamboyant dress and the ease with which you displayed emotion. They assumed you were a wimp or a puss boy… The truth is that you were the ultimate boy’s boy, and a real goddamn prick sometimes. Women have always been objects for you. Sex objects, ideals of romantic love, mother comforters, potential wives, potential brood mares. What we’ve never been are people.”

Tach swallowed past the lump that had hardened in her throat.

“People, I’m scared. I can’t live like this.”

Finn’s arms closed about her. “I know, baby, I know.”

Since the rapes she hadn’t been able to tolerate physical contact with a man. Gently, trying to avoid panic, Tach disentangled those confining arms. Stood and looked at Cody. Suddenly Cody’s hand shot out, and she steadied Tachyon. The sedative and the tumultuous events of the day were catching up with her, and she was literally swaying on her feet.

“Go to bed,” said Cody softly, and pushed her gently to Finn.

Finn led her to the guest room. “Do you want me to stay? I can get somebody else to do late rounds for me.

“No, take care of my clinic. And I… I want to be alone.”

The snick of the door closing behind him was loud in the shadows. Tach eyed the bed. Remembered many nights of fervent swordplay with a variety of lovers. Their names were forgotten, but their bodies… Rage and loss filled her.

Bad dreams brought her awake. Blaise was still walking through her mind, the memory of his mental and physical rapes like an oozing wound. Terror had set her heart to hammering, each wild beat bringing a surge of nausea. By the time Tachyon was fully awake, she was out of the bedroom and was standing shivering in the living room.

So she could now add sleepwalking to her list of night terrors.

She went searching for relief. Finn’s liquor cabinet revealed him to be something of a wine snob, but there were also bottles of brandy, fine whiskey, and vodka.

The residue of the sedative was still in her system, making her head like cotton wadding and dragging at her limbs, and she knew as she uncapped the brandy that she shouldn’t be doing this. But it had been a haven for too many years, and she wanted to turn off her head.

Tach had made a substantial dent in the level of brandy in the bottle before an over-full bladder sent her staggering into the bathroom. It had a traditional toilet, but there were also an oubliette in the French fashion. A rather large hole in the floor.

How did Finn manage at the clinic? Back into a stall, lift his tail, and hope his aim was good? Tach wondered.

The bath had also been altered. It was an enormous sunken affair with heavy frosted sliding doors.

She realized she had never before considered the difficulties Bradley had to face. The realization shamed her, adding to the already deep depression that seemed to have a palpable presence.

After relieving herself she stood and stared at her thickening body. I’ve become a joker. A stranger in a deformed body. Lifting the hem of the long T-shirt, Tach ran an experimental hand across her swollen belly. She was a trained physician. It wasn’t hard to locate Illyana’s head.

What a burden to grow up knowing you were conceived during a violent rape. That in your veins runs the blood of a madman, a killer. How can I ever explain it to you? What will I tell you when you ask about your father? A pleasant little story maybe? He was called the Outcast, and he was a lonely prince who went away long, long ago.

Her laugh was a bitter yelp, a cry of pain. You’re an accident. Blaise became my child in a spray of blood. You were conceived in blood. You’ll be born in blood. What’s to keep you from being a monster too? To keep you from feeding on me the way he did? The way you already have.

The physician-trained part of Tachyon’s mind was screaming like a siren trying to penetrate the drug-, alcohol-, and exhaustion-induced depression. Over the long, pain-filled years Tach had always managed to battle back from the weary surrender. This time she didn’t care to try. Illyana’s emotions wove a frantic counterpoint about Tachyon’s wear bitter thoughts. It was like holding a small dying creature.

We’ll die together, baby, Tach thought as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet.

Bradley was an old-fashioned boy. The mother-of-pearl grip on the straight razor glittered in the lights. With clumsy fingers Tach pulled out the blade. She cut the pad of her thumb badly, but it didn’t seem to hurt. Methodically she spun the spigots, filling the tub with hot water. Settled onto the toilet to watch it fill.

Will you understand, baby? asked Tachyon as she studied first the razor, and then the tub. I hope so, because I have to do this. I’m so tired. I cannot go on.

It was filled. She stripped out of the T-shirt and walked down the steps into the water. The heat of the water stung her toes. Slowly she lowered herself into the water. Lifted an arm from the water, drew the blade down the length of her wrist. There was cold and pressure, and then pain. The blood was running down her wrist, warm and a little sticky. Switch hands and repeat the process. She had two good hands again. She could do surgery.

Cutting out the life, she thought dreamily as she rested her head against the edge of the tub.

Warm, so warm. The blood flowed from her wrists, mingled with the water, and was carried away in ever-widening eddies. Sunsets over oceans. Flower petals dancing away in the chop of a mountain stream. Lethargy tugged at her. Soon even the light faded.

“I’m having second thoughts about your plan.”

Durg looked up and met the boy’s flat black stare. He hadn’t lived longer than two hundred years without learning how to read through bravura, and he could see the panic huddled in the back of Blaise’s eyes. He was also a Morakh; trained not only for combat, but for diplomacy and counsel. He arranged his features into an expression of warm attention.

“May I know why, lord?”

Blaise cast a nervous glance about the control room of the ship. Durg was seated on an extruded bench against one of the curving, pearlescent walls. The boy took Durg’s arm and tugged the Takisian into the center of the circular room.

In a low whisper (as if it would do any good if the Ishab’kaukab decided to listen) Blaise said, “Sooner or later he’s gonna wake up.” A head jerk toward Kelly, who sprawled unconscious in the big canopied bed. “And when he does, Baby’s going to know that’s not Tachyon and head straight back to Earth.”

“Your point?”

“Why don’t we handle it now? Turn around, head back -”

“And go where?”

“Tahiti, Tibet… Why does it have to be Takis?”

“Anyplace you can run on Earth, your grandfather can run too. And what of Bloat? A creature that can warp and bend reality will not be discouraged by a few thousand miles.” That blow struck home. Durg saw it in the slight widening of the eyes. Blaise shuddered and allowed his fear to emerge a bit farther from the shadows. “The joker adores your grandfather. He will not rest until he sees you punished.” Durg paused a suitable few seconds, then added softly, “And I thought you wished to be a prince?”

Blaise leapt on that. “Yeah, it sounded great when I was running the jumpers and ruling my piece of the Rox, but I’ve had a lot of time to think in the past day, and I’ve remembered a few little points that Granddaddy told me which you’ve carefully omitted.”