urgent undertone, "We will be leaving as soon as my speech is over."
"Very good, Doctor. Will we then be going to Ebbets Field as planned?"
"No!" Tachyon added something explosive in his own language, and, tucking Roulette's arm beneath his, escorted her up the back stairs and onto the stands. A large group of dignitaries were already assembled in a semicircle around the podium. She saw Hartmann looking peevish while the mayor of New York hung over the back of his chair and agitated for support for his upcoming gubernatorial race. The ace in the white jumpsuit, hood now thrown back, hovered solicitously nearby. He was staring glassily into the crowd at a nubile teenager whose breasts strained at her halter top, and Roulette noticed that his face didn't quite come together. The eyes weren't quite level, and the nose seemed to blossom like a twisted tuber above a too-small mouth and chin. He looked like an artist's clay model the artist had gotten bored with before completing the bust.
Seated in the second row of chairs was a distinguishedlooking Oriental. Periodically he jotted quick notes in a leather-bound book, and Roulette noticed that the gold fountain pen left a trail of gold ink. She made a face over the affectation, considering how often money did not translate into class or taste. The man's dark eyes lifted from the book, and stared with frightened intensity at a silver-haired man whose tailoring screamed "lawyer." This man seemed to be looking for an opening to interrupt the unending flow from Koch and speak to Hartmann.
At the far end of the front row sat a major rock-and-roll figure whose "Joker Aid" concerts had raised several million dollars-none of which had yet reached Jokertown. Roulette gave a cynical smile. From her days at the UN she knew in just how many ways money could be channeled and skimmed. Tachyon and his clinic would be lucky if they ever saw $10,000.....
Her thoughts drew up short. The Takisian's voice penetrated her black study. "Roulette, here."
She glanced about confused, focused on the folding metal chair, seated herself.
"My God, Mrs. Brown-Roxbury! What are you doing here?" She stared into Senator Hartmann's pale brown eyes. He gave an embarrassed cough. "Oh damn, that sounded rather rude, didn't it? I'm just so surprised and delighted to see you. Mr. Love told me you had left the UN, and I was sorry to hear it."
"The UN? What is this talk of the UN? You worked there?" broke in Tachyon. "Senator, good to see you." The men shook hands across her.
Roulette opened her mouth, and shut it again as Hartmann took over the conversation for her. "Yes, Mrs. Brown-Roxbury was an economist with the United Nations Development Program."
"Not that we ever managed to develop a damn thing," she replied mechanically.
Hartmann laughed. "That's my Roulette. You always did give 'em hell up there."
"Mrs.?"
"Don't panic, I'm divorced."
Hartmann went nattering on about the "wonderful work being done by the IMF and the World Bank" while overhead the striped awning, erected to give some relief from the sun, snapped and popped in the wind. It created an odd punctuation to his sentences.
"Yes," pop "the electrification pro" snap "ject in Zaire is a " pop "classic example of the fine work.... "
A discreet cough interrupted the flow. "Senator."
"Yes, what is it?"
"St. John Latham, with Latham, Strauss." Latham leaned in close, his pale eyes expressionless. "My client." A hand indicated the Oriental gentleman, and Hartmann slewed around to look.
"General Kien, how the hell are you? I didn't see you come sneaking, up here. You should have said something.' Kien slid the notebook into his coat pocket, rose, and shook the senator's outstretched hand. "I didn't wish to disturb you..'
"Nonsense, I always have time for one of my staunchest supporters."
Latham's pale, expressionless eyes shifted to Kien, back to the senator. "That being the case, Senator.... The general has suffered a severe loss this morning. Several very valuable books of stamps were stolen from his safe, and the police are having little success in recovering them." The lawyer eyed Tachyon, but the alien showed no inclination to move. With a shrug he continued. "In fact, they don't seem to give a damn. I pressed them, and was told that given the other problems attendant on Wild Card Day they haven't got time to worry about a simple burglary."
"Outrageous. I'm afraid I don't have a lot of pull with New York's finest, nor would I want to tread on Mayor Koch's territory." A