for this line-withering tour? Well, perhaps the increased security would keep this young man alive until they could reach home.
"Doctor, Monsieur de Valmy would like to meet you." The young man forced a path for Tachyon while the alien studied France's most popular presidential candidate since de Gaulle. Franchot de Valmy, said by many to be the next president of the Republic. A tall, slim figure moving easily through the crowd. His rich chestnut hair was streaked with a single two-inch bar of white. Very striking. More striking, though far less evident, was the fact he was a wild card. An ace. In a country gone mad for aces.
Hartmann and de Valmy were shaking hands. It was an outstanding display of political soft soap. Two eager hunters using one another's power and popularity to catapult them into the highest offices in their lands.
"Sir, Dr. Tachyon."
De Valmy turned the full force of his compelling greeneyed gaze onto the Takisian. Tachyon, raised in a culture that put a high premium on charm and charisma, found that this man possessed both to an almost Takisian magnitude. He wondered if that was his wild card gift.
"Doctor, I am honored." He spoke in English.
Tach placed a small hand over his breast and replied in French, "The honor is entirely mine."
" I will be interested to hear your comments on our scientists' work on the wild card virus."
"Well, I have only just arrived." He fingered his lapel, raised his eyes, and pinned de Valmy with a sharp glance.
"And will I be reporting to all the candidates in the race? Will they also wish to hear my comments?"
Senator Hartmann took a small step forward, but de Valmy was laughing. "You are very astute. Yes, I am-how do you Americans say-counting my chickens."
"With reason," said Hartmann with a smile. "You've been groomed by the President as his heir apparent."
"Certainly an advantage," said Tachyon. "But your status as an ace hasn't hurt."
"No."
"I would be curious to know your power."
De Valmy covered his eyes. "Oh, Monsieur Tachyon, I'm embarrassed to speak of it. It's such a contemptible little power. Mere parlor tricks."
"You are very modest, sir."
Hartmann's aide glared, and Tach stared blandly back, though he regretted the momentary flash of sarcasm. It was ill bred of him to take out his weariness and unhappiness on others.
"I am not above using the advantage granted to me, Doctor, but I hope that it will be my policies and leadership that will give me the presidency."
Tachyon gave a small laugh and caught Gregg Hartmann's eye. "It is ironic, is it not, that in this country the wild card bestows a cachet to help a man into high office, while in our country that same information would defeat him."
The senator pulled a face. "Leo Barnett."
"I beg you pardon?" asked de Valmy in some confusion. "A fundamentalist preacher who's gathering quite a following. He'd restore all the old wild card laws."
"Oh, worse than that, Senator. I think he would place them in detention camps and force mass sterilizations."
"Well, this is an unpleasant subject. But on another unpleasant subject I'd like a chance to talk to you, Franchot, about your feelings on the phaseout of medium-range missiles in Europe. Not that I have any standing with the current administration, but my colleagues in the Senate. . ." He linked arms with de Valmy and they drifted away, their various aides trailing several paces behind like hopeful pilot fish.
Tach gulped down champagne. The chandeliers glittered in the long line of mirrors, multiplying them a hundredfold and throwing back bright light like shards of glass into his aching head. He took another swallow of champagne, though he knew the alcohol was partly to blame for his present discomfort. That and the drilling hum of hundreds of voices, the busy scrape of bows on strings, and outside, the watching presence of an adoring public. Sensitive telepath that he was, it beat on him like an urgent, hungry sea.
As the motorcade had driven up the long chestnut-lined boulevard, they had passed hundreds of waving people all eagerly craning for a glimpse of the les ases fantastiques. It was a welcome relief after such hatred and fear in other countries. Still, he was glad that only one country remained, and then he would be home. Not that anything waited for him there but more problems.
In Manhattan, James Spector was on the streets. Death incarnate stalking free. Another monster created by my meddling. Once home I must deal with this. Trace him.