"Is he… is he in Manhattan?" Tach hated himself for the hesitation that made his voice as ragged as a broken saw. It revealed his fear, and he didn't like to admit, even to himself, that he was afraid of his grandson.

"No, I think he's based on the Rox, but he and his gang of delinquents make raids into the city."

"You think?"

Jay correctly interpreted the added emphasis on the final word as censure. "Look, you hired me to get information on the kid, not recover him. And while I'm not a coward, I'm also not stupid. People who go to the Rox generally don't come back."

"And if I hired you to bring him back?"

"I'd say no. I'm a private eye, not a one-man commando unit."

For a long time they sat in silence. It was hard for Tachyon to ask the question that was battering impatiently at the back of his teeth. Over the years he had been threatened by enemies far more terrifying than Blaise-the Astronomer, the Swarm, Hartmann. Why, then, was he so afraid? Or did a surfeit of love translate into a greater sense of betrayal and terror when that love died?

"Am I in danger?"

They locked eyes. "I don't know. Given your past history, yeah, you're probably in danger. You imprisoned his father, and killed his guardian, sacrificed his tutor to save your neck. Not to mention dressing him in puce and lace-"

"You also bear some responsibility in this. What about Atlanta, when he was possessed by that creature? He mindcontrolled that poor joker, made him tear himself to pieces."

Jay shrugged. "Okay, neither one of us are prime candidates for father of the year. The point is, what he thinks will hurt you most. Maybe he'll just be content to fuck over everyone around you."

Tachyon stood, began to pace. "I can't live with that burden."

"I don't see that you've got any choice."

"There must be some other option."

"I can think of one-deal with Blaise."

Tach's stomach felt as if lead shot had been dropped into it. He shook his head. "I can't deal with him."

"Why not?"

"That would require killing him."

Jay's eyes flicked in reaction to that bald statement.

"Jesus Christ, what is it with you Takisians? You've never heard of psychiatrists?"

"Do you want to capture him for me?"

Jay had the grace to blush. He looked down. "Not particularly."

Tach turned away. "I am wounded, Jay, wounded in ways which can't even be seen. I just want to be left alone."

"That's not an option that's open for you." There was a grimness, a seriousness to the detective's expression that Tachyon had never seen before. It was a little frightening. "There are people who are actors on history. They can't step off the stage no matter how much they might like to. You're one of those people-you poor bastard."

There was no answer to that. Again silence held the room. Tach finally crossed to the bar, and poured out a brandy. "A little early in the day, isn't it?"

"Don't nag. You have unalterably depressed me, now you must take the consequences."

"Hey, it ain't my problem. You can go to hell anyway it suits you. Just don't try to blame me."

Tach set aside the snifter, untasted. "And what of Mark?"

"No trace. Oh, I know he's somewhere within the environs of greater Manhattan, but I don't know where."

"Why is this so difficult? Mark Meadows is a lovely but totally ineffectual person. How could he evade you this long?"

"He's had some help. The jokers seem to be protecting him, and most important, he doesn't want to be found."

"His protectors must know that we can be trusted."

"Look, if we get the information, how long until the cops have it? Meadows is a wanted fugitive. Don't forget that." "All this fuss over a child-custody hearing. They've ruined a man for nothing."

"They've ruined him for being an ace. His little girl was just the excuse."

"What lovely times we live in." Tach sighed. "Well, keep looking."

Jay rose. "And Blaise?"

"You've told me what I needed to know. Now it's just a matter of warning my friends and protecting. myself."

Jay hesitated at the door. "You won't…"

"He is my grandchild. The last of my blood. The only heir I will ever have. I can't…" His voice, too, died away to nothing.

" I think you're a fool."

"So you have said before." Jay left. And Tachyon drained the brandy.

The shrilling of the telephone dimly penetrated the thunder and rush of the shower. Tach heard the answering machine kick in. He continued to shampoo his long red hair as his own familiar voice droned through the message. There was the nasal squeal of the signal, and then Cody's voice. "I've rented us a room at the Ritz." Sputtering, Tach shut off the flow of water. "There comes a time when you can't hide from sex anymore. Meet me."

Tach just stood as shampoo ran down his forehead, and a sudden rush of testosterone brought his cock to rigid anticipatory attention. The soap hit and burned his eyes. Cursing, he switched the water back on, and quickly rinsed. He hurried but seemed to be scarcely moving. His fingers had become clumsy with surprise and nervous expectation. He picked his finest outfit. He wore it only to Hiram's annual Wild Card Day dinners, but tonight merited such elegance.

As he fingered the soft material, he wondered at her choice for a rendezvous. The hotel seemed rather sterile. But her son, Chris, was a factor at her apartment, and to enter Tachyon's would seem like too much a capitulation for this proud woman.

After dressing, he critically surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Short, yes, by human standards, but very slim. The riot of red curls brushed the shoulders of his coat. The lines about mouth and eyes were too deep for his ninety-one years, but the years on earth had not been kind. The worst flaw was that ugly extrusion on the end of his right arm. He wanted to be able to caress her with all the mastery of a Takisian mentat prince.

The front door bell shrilled. The boy with the flowers. Tach grabbed his wallet, and forced himself not to run.

At the hotel door he gave one final twitch to the goldtipped lace at his throat, adjusted the roses, and gave one quick peremptory knock with the artificial hand.

"It's open, come in," called Cody.

Tachyon entered. There was a room-service cart at the foot of the bed. Caviar, petits fours, a wedge of camembert cheese, and most important, champagne cooling in a silver bucket.

Cody stepped out of the bathroom. There was something hesitant, almost awkward about her stance. Tach understood. He felt damnably nervous and awkward himself. He found himself focusing on the black negligee she was wearing. It revealed her charms in startling ways, and Tach was a little surprised that she would wear such a sexy gown. But then, what did he really know of this woman and her fantasies? He had always seen her as the perfectly cool, incredibly professional surgeon. Perhaps she liked to be a houri in the bedroom to offset that rather severe image.

"I want you to promise me something."

"Anything," said Tach as he proffered the roses. They were like splashes of blood against the black of her gown. "Don't read my mind."

Tach was puzzled, a thread of suspicion curled in his mind. But his cock was demanding instant attention, and if he refused he might never bed this woman. "All right," he said slowly. "But might I know why?"

"I need to feel… safe."

He laughed to off-set the sense of hurt and the taint of disappointment that had wormed its way into his libidinous pleasure. "That's funny, I always feel safer when I can joincompletely-with my lovers."

"Well, do this for me. Promise me."

" I promise."

She seemed vastly relieved because she suddenly smiled. The bouquet of roses went sailing into a chair. "Do you want to waste time with all this romantic bullshit?"