Tach ran a hand across her mouth and chin. “The body feels the attraction.”

“And the mind?”

“I am Tachyon.” Her mind’s eye suddenly gave her a blinding picture of a decaying old room, the smell of mildew from a rotting mattress, Blaise – Tach closed her eyes, felt the skin between her eyes pucker with her frown.

“What?” asked Cody softly.

“No.”

“I’m your friend. I maybe can’t understand – thank God – but I can listen. And I can care.”

She beat her hands together, a nervous tic. Cody reached out and folded her hands over Tachyon’s.

“I’m free now. Why does it still unnerve me so?” Tach’s voice was breathy with fear.

“There’s a reason why there are rape crisis centers, and counseling, and support groups. This is the most violent of all violent assaults. The most demeaning, Cody said softly.

Hair flew as Tach shook her head. “I… should be able… to… to handle… this.”

“Why?”

She panted, trying to draw air into her stricken lungs. “I’m… I’m a man -”

“So that’s supposed to make you tougher? Have you ever met a male rape victim? Well, I have. The emotions are the same no matter what your plumbing happens to be. You go through the same shame and rage, guilt, the enormous fear, the depression.” Cody couldn’t control it. Her eye slid down to the bandages that cuffed Tachyon’s wrist. Cody stripped off her surgical gloves, removed the I.V., closed her case. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

Cody’s arm around her waist was a welcome support as they walked to the bedroom. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, then they both noticed the blood staining the sheets.

“That won’t do…”

“I’ll get fresh linens…” they said simultaneously. It was a strangely cathartic action… making a bed together. Sheets billowed tentlike, corners were tucked. Then abruptly Cody asked, “Have you cried once since this happened?”

“Which part of it?” retorted Tach wryly.

“Take your pick.”

In a low voice she said, “I wept after the first rape. Then he came a second time, and all the tears died.”

“It’s a release you need.”

“It’s an escape I used too often, I think… in my old life.”

Cody tossed the down comforter onto the bed. “Don’t be a tough guy.”

“I’m not,” said Tach shrugging out of her robe. “I’m not trying not to cry. I just can’t. All the pain has jammed up somewhere, and I can’t let it out.”

They curled up beneath the comforter. Sleep had almost claimed Tachyon when Cody’s voice pulled her back, saying softly, “It’s not quite how I envisioned my first time in your bed.”

Tachyon levered herself up on one elbow, leaned over, and gently kissed Cody on the cheek. “I do love you…”

They put their arms around each other, huddled close.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Go after Blaise.”

The monastery nestled like a bamboo-and-rice-paper pearl in a setting of verdant green hills. Gnarled pines held poses against the pale blue sky like tortured, yet graceful, Kabuki dancers. As Tachyon trudged up the road toward the front gates, spume from a small waterfall was carried to her cheek by a short-lived puff of wind. Then the sleepy August heat returned. Crickets droned dully in the trees and bushes. Tach struggled to keep her eyes open. And her sense of misuse deepened. Fortunato would agree to a meeting at precisely the time she most desperately needed her afternoon nap.

A monk was waiting at the gate. In his dark robe he had seemed just another huddled root at the foot of a gigantic pine. Tach swallowed a gasp as he suddenly unfolded from his meditative pose and stood up.

The welcoming, toothless smile metamorphosed into a frown of confusion.

“I’m here to see Fortunato,” said Tach slowly. She touched her breast. “I am Tachyon.”

The monk brightened at the sound of her name, but then a distressed murmur of Japanese began. The little man’s ears were large and stood out from his almost completely bald head like flaring mushrooms. Like semaphores they made it very clear that she was not entering the monastery, as the old man vigorously shook his head.

“Look, I am Tachyon. I know you were probably expecting a man, but I promise, your virtues are quite safe with me.” The man was still shaking his head. Tach’s patience snapped like a tightly wound guitar string. “Look! I’ve had a really difficult four days. I would have been here two days ago, except a moron at Tomlin wouldn’t let me on the plane because my passport picture was a little out-of-date.” She briefly covered her eyes with a hand, reliving the humiliation of the moment. “Like the wrong sex. And I’ll tell you right now – long airplane rides are hell on pregnant women.” Communication was not occurring.

“And you’re not understanding a word I am saying, are you? Maybe you’ll understand this… if you do not let me through this gate, I’m going to… “ Her voice trailed away as a plan bloomed.

Cupping her hands around her belly, she said, “Fortunato! I must see him!”

The old man’s eyebrows began waggling as furiously as his ears. Panic was added to the jumble of emotions that warred for control of his face. He pointed to her stomach. Tach nodded. The old man opened the gate and indicated a pathway of carefully raked white sand. Tach started walking. And, soon reached a small bridge, which arched like a springing fawn across a tumbling white-water mountain stream. It was a startling design, however, for the bridge made a perfect ninety-degree turn in the center, then resumed its leap for the far side. Tach paused for a moment in the center of the turn, gripped the handrail, and stared down into the churning water. The water and the wind through the pines formed a harmony as delicate as a sigh. Dropping her head onto the backs of her folded hands, Tach simply listened and breathed for a long moment. This was a good place to be. But it could be delayed no longer. However lovely the setting, soothing the moment, it was not her place or her fortune to rest here. Fortunato had that luxury, she did not. Firmly she raised her head, squared her shoulders, and trying not to waddle, she walked off the bridge and into the heart of the Zen garden.

Fortunato was waiting on a stone bench set artistically before a small pagoda. The gravel of the path crunched beneath her feet, but the ace continued to read, not deigning to acknowledge her arrival. A thin thread of anger coiled like a worm in the center of her heart as Tachyon studied that long, spare face. There were more lines about the narrow, bitter mouth and the slanted oriental eyes, and his cocoa hair held a tinge of gray. The years were passing, and their passage had left a permanent record on Fortunato’s face.

“Hello, Fortunato.” The sound of her soft soprano brought his head up like a spooking horse. It has been a while.”

They studied each other. Gray eyes locked with black. It didn’t require a lot of imagination to see the line of fire arcing between them.

“Tachyon.” And Fortunato’s voice fairly purred with satisfaction.

“You’re the first person to recognize me must be the telepathy.”

“I’ve given all that up.”

Her disbelief showed. “I’m sure.”

“It’s true.” The ace set aside his book. “I just recognized the look in the eyes.”

“Somehow, I do not think that is a compliment.”

“Glad to see you haven’t lost that rapierlike keenness and understanding.” Tach remained silent. “Looks like you’ve got trouble.”

“I’ve got trouble,” acknowledged the alien.

The wind and the crickets replaced human conversation. It was capitulation, but Tach had to break the silence first.

“May I sit down? My back…” she added.

“Yeah, sure. Take a load off.”

And then it became too much for the ace. The lines at either side of Fortunato’s mouth deepened as he fought the grin, but it couldn’t be controlled. White teeth dazzled against the dark skin. The smile became a laugh. Three sharp snorts of amusement. Pain shot from the hinge of Tachyon’s jaw into her head as her teeth ground together. “I am so glad you find this a laughing matter. For me it is rather more serious,” she declared in a voice gone shrill with anger.