"HEY!"

Shouts. A wall of people advancing upon him. Phones shrilling. A television pouring its electronic inanities into the crowded suite.

"Get out of my way! GET OUT OF MY WAY! WHERE IS HE? I MUST SEE HIM!" His voice ringing shrilly in his own ears.

"You can't just waltz in here-" bawled Straight Arrow. People had gripped him by arms and legs, lifting him completely off the ground. Tach screamed with fury, and writhed in their grasps. Mind-controlling people frantically, he felt the holds on him loosen, then jerk tight again as new people stepped forward to replace those he had dropped slumbering to the floor.

The connecting door to the bedroom flew open, banging violently into the far wall. Jesse Jackson, reading glasses clutched in his hand, glared at his supporters, and roared, "LET HIM GO!"

The two oldest Jackson sons pushed back the irate staffers. The very pretty and very self-possessed Jackie Jackson helped Tachyon smooth his coat. Slowly order was restored. Jesse Jackson beckoned to Tachyon, and he joined him in the bedroom. The door closed, blocking off the worst of the noise, and the curious gawking faces.

"Here." Tachyon opened his eyes. Jackson had thrust a hotel glass filled with scotch under his nose. "You believe in making an entrance, don't you, Doctor? You couldn't have just called and asked to see me?"

Tach pressed a hand to his eyes. "I didn't think." Squaring his shoulders he pushed up and off the wall that had been supporting him. "Call a press conference, Reverend. You have just become the new, best hope for the wild cards."

Jackson seemed bereft of words. He slapped his hand against his thigh then took several quick turns about the cramped room.

"Why?" His tone and expression were equally grim. "Upon reflection I have become convinced of the strength of your arguments."

"Bull. You roar in here like a madman. You're shaking like a leaf… " Desperately Tachyon clasped his hands, trying to still the betraying tremors. "What's happened?"

The Takisian flung out a hand in a sharp jagged gesture. "Do you want what I am offering you, or not?"

"Yes. But I want to know why."

"No."

"Yes. Look, Doctor, you're going to have to tell the press something. You may as well practice on me."

The bed in the suite was an elaborate canopied affair. Tachyon wrapped his hands about the neweled post, and rested his forehead against the wood. In a flat monotone he recited, "Gregg Hartmann's instabilities are well-documented. Though everyone hoped that the tragedy of 1976 was forever behind the senator I have determined that this morning's events have badly shaken the candidate, and I cannot in good conscience support the gentleman in his bid to secure the presidential nomination of the Democratic Party." He dropped his hands, and turned to face Jackson. "There, will that do?"

Jackson smoothed his mustache with a forefinger, "Yes, I think it just might." His eyes were grave as he looked down at the tiny alien. "Do you fully understand the consequences of what you are doing?"

"oh, yes." The words came out, carried on a breath. "And that doesn't deter you?"

"I cannot let it." Tach headed for the door. Paused with his hand on the knob, and looked back, "I am trusting you with my people, Reverend. You had best not prove my faith unfounded."

10:00 P.M.

"-instabilities are well-documented," the small man with the long red hair was saying from the midst of the television screen. In the background the letters JAC and SON winged out either side of the grinning giant black man beside him. "I fear that the tragic events of this morning have overwhelmed Senator Gregg Hartmann."

"You fucker, you fucker!" Mackie Messer screamed, spewing fried pork-rind crumbs at the screen. His skinny, twisted little body was practically levitating above the taut hotel bedspread, like a speck of superconductor caught in a magnetic field.

The pork rinds tasted mostly of salt and grease. Failure tasted like shit.

Der Mann hadn't sent him away. He had permitted him to stay, in a room as stolen as the pork rinds-funny how you could always find an empty room no matter how jammed a hotel was. At least if you could walk through walls.

It had been close. Mackie could tell. He could always tell when rejection was near. He had a lot of experience with it. Tachyon looked directly into molten-silver glare. It seemed to push his eyes back deep in dark pits.

"I am no longer convinced of Senator Hartmann's abilities adequately to represent the Democratic Party, either as a presidential nominee or as president. Therefore I have decided to support the Reverend Jesse Jackson, who has demonstrated his commitment to jokers… "

For a nigger! The alien bastard was throwing over the Man for a jungle savage! And Mackie, who could at least have killed the blonde cunt who was trouble for the Man, had fucked up.

He was worthless. He deserved the Man's rejection. Just as he deserved to be abandoned by his mother. With a sob he tore a pillow from the candy-wrapper embrace of the bedspread and stuffed it over his face as if that could keep the tears in him.

11:00 P.M.

The phone rang. Tachyon glanced at Jay's slumbering form, but the detective didn't even twitch. He was beyond mere sleep; it was an exhaustion so deep that it was almost unconsciousness. Tachyon stared at him in bitter envy. He was bone tired, but his restless mind would not allow him to rest. Knocking back the last inch of brandy in his tumbler, the alien reached out and snagged the phone.

"Hello. No, I'm not giving interviews-"

"Dr. Tachyon, this is the front desk. The Great and Powerful Turtle is hovering in front of the entrance, and he's calling for you."

"Tell him I am busy. "But-'

Tachyon replaced the receiver, and resumed drinking. A few minutes later the phone rang again.

"Look, goddamn it! Meet me! We've got to talk." Tachyon pondered on where Tommy had parked the shell while he made the telephone call. "No, Tommy."

"You owe it to me."

"No."

He hung up the phone, and had another drink.

The glass blew in with the sound like a rocket detonating. With a yell of terror Tachyon wrapped his arms about his head as glittering slivers rained across carpet and furniture. Turtle was a vast black bulk blotting out the stars. There were shouts of confusion coming from the hall.

"You can hang up a phone. I thought I'd call in person."

"Oh, Tommy."

"Let's go, we've gotta talk."

"I can't."

Turtle's power seized him. Swung him out the shattered window, and held him suspended three hundred feet above the pavement. "You can."

Tachyon glanced down at the roofs of the cars flowing past beneath him. Swallowed his stomach. "All right. I can." Turtle deposited him softly on the rounded back of the shell. Tach groped for a hand hold. He was too drunk to balance without it.

"Why, Tachy?"

"I had to."

"One more ballot, and we would have had it." Tachyon remained silent. "Look, goddamn it, talk to me!"

"I cannot."

"You cannot." Tommy imitated in a whining, prissy little tone.

Anger stirred wearily. "Look, Tommy, what's the problem? Jackson holds every position that Hartmann held."

"Jackson can't become president."

"You don't know that."

"Jackson is a black guy who supports jokers!"

"I decided he was the best person to represent the wild card interest."

"You, you decided? Just like that. Well, what about the rest of us?"

"You have known me for twenty-five years. You must trust me."

"Trust you. Even though you betrayed us. You know what you've done. You've just given the nomination to Barnett."