It was like being on Mercury: The air-conditioning of the Marriott beat on his back as he stepped through the doors. The Atlanta heat started the sweat rolling down his face. The sidewalk was crowded with Jackson supporters waving brightred JESSE! signs. Just beyond them was the limo. Jackson clasped Tachyon's hand and lifted them up over their heads. Tachyon squirmed, dancing on his toes. The reverend was so much taller.

A ragged cheer went up, and they headed for the limo, smiling and shaking hands as the spectators crowded in around them. Jackson pressed the flesh with practiced ease. Tachyon looked at him enviously.

Ackroyd was waiting at the door of the car. "What now?"

"Jesse wants us to talk to the jokers outside the Omni," Tachyon explained. "He and I together. His positions on wild card issues are just as strong as Hartmann's, if they will only listen…" He gave a long, deep sigh. "Jay, if you have other leads to follow up, there's really no need for you to come along."

Jay shrugged. "Might as well," he said, "can't dance." At least the limo was air-conditioned, Tachyon thought gratefully as they drove off.

Jackson's bodyguard, the ace called Straight Arrow, stared implacably across at him. Tach began to realize how hopeless, how stupid this was. They were not going to listen. Jesse would have a better chance without him. Tension made his voice jump as he blurted, "This is not going to work."

"Faith, Doctor," said Jackson.

He was wedged firmly between Jay Ackroyd and the reverend. He looked desperately from Jay to Jesse. "They hate me now."

The limo pulled up, and Jackson studied the ranks of silent jokers. "Only some. It's not as if you switched your support to Barnett. I'm not that unacceptable, am I?"

"Not to me." Tach gave the tall human's arm a squeeze. "And you will convince them. I know it."

"Well, help me a little."

"I will do my uttermost best."

Straight Arrow swung open the door of the black limousine, and Jackson and Tachyon stepped back out into the heat. The police had driven a wedge into the jokers. At the end of that long aisle was a flatbed truck equipped with a sound system. The heat was unbelievable, bouncing in waves off the pavement. As he watched, Tach saw Arachne's eight legs fold beneath her and she went down with a sigh. There was a flurry of movement as her nat daughter dropped down at her mother's side, and began fanning the unconscious woman with a folded newspaper.

"How can they hate them so?" Tachyon asked. The lilac eyes were wide with misery. "They are pitiful, and so brave. So very brave."

The crowd had noticed them. Uncertainty ran like a shiver through them, then large numbers began pushing forward against the lines of police as Jackson walked into their midst. Setting his jaw, Tachyon threw back his head, and followed. His eyes met Gills'. The joker's thick neck worked, the membranes over the gills fluttering. He hacked, and a gob' of thick white mucus hit Tachyon in the face. The alien recoiled, then lunged forward, hand outstretched, pleading for understanding. But Gills had already turned his back on Tachyon.

He mopped away the spittle, and they moved deeper into the crowd. Up ahead Tach could hear the ring of Jesse's voice, but the words eluded him. He was too busy scanning the crowd, evaluating the faces of his friends and people. Disinterest, outright hatred, sympathy. A shadow fell across him. Turtle. But Tommy flew on.

A huge, pallid figure snapped the linked arms of two policemen. A brick wall wasn't going to stop six-hundred pounds of Doughboy. He rolled to a stop before the tiny alien. "Doctor."

"Yes, dear." He couldn't bring himself to call the joker "Doughboy."

"They thaid Mith Thara's a twaitor, and now they thay you are too. I don't underthand. "

"It's very confusing, child."

"Don't you love the thenator anymore?"

Tach covered his eyes with a hand. "I love all of you better. "

"Funny way of showing it," howled a voice from the crowd.

"Traitor. Traitor! TRAITOR!"

The sound battered at him, and Tach dropped his face into his hands. Suddenly Jackson was there, an arm tight about his shoulders.

"Come on. You can do it. We walk through this crowd. We get up on that truck, and we speak. It's going to be all right. "

"No, Reverend, I am afraid that some things can never be repaired."

But he had been reminded of his duty, so with a smile firmly in place Tach began moving down the line of people. Some of the most unbelievable things were held out to him-claws, tentacles, misshapen lumps covered with foulsmelling discharge. The sight of a normal human hand was such a relief that Tachyon almost ran to grip it.

A young man, dressed in a leather jacket despite the heat, raised heavy lids to regard him. Eyes as blank as a shark's.

Jokers clogged the street, silent and horrible. The heat and the light seemed to suffocate you, to wrap around your chest like a python, tightening by degrees. It reminded Mackie of Hamburg in summertime. He hated anything that reminded him of home. He hated the heat and the humidity, and wasn't too crazy about the light of day. Most of all he hated jokers.

Nonetheless he was happy. Redemption sang in his veins like a hit of good speed.

Der Mann was giving him another chance. He was Macheath again, slipping through the mob with his song bubbling mantric down in his throat.

In this mass of monsters, nothing was remarkable. Particularly Mackie. His lack of size let him avoid most contact. The awful heat sent sweat tentacles crawling down his ribs inside his jacket and aging T-shirt, but his personal stink was lost in the crowd.

Glancing impact, then, "Hey, there, motherfucker!" The hand on his arm was feathered. "Watch who you're shoving! Who the fuck you think you are?"

"I'm Mack the Knife, you filthy creature!" Anger swelled like his cock. He started to bring a buzz.

No! Remember your job! He snarled something wordless and phased out, leaving the monstrosity standing there holding air. The stupid look on what passed for its face made him laugh.

Insubstantial, he walked through a maggot clump of horrors pretending to be people, found an eddy big enough to phase his skinny body back in. The jokers paid him no mind.

A chant had started, low and hostile. The words blurred in his mind. He didn't try to understand. Jokers had nothing to say. The beasts didn't even know he was walking through them! He was Mackie Messer, he was stone mystery and death. He was invincible.

Looming alongside his quarry was the tall nigger running for president-and wasn't that capitalist decadence, to let such people hold political office? Karl Marx said the black man was a slave, and der alte Karl knew what he was talking about. The man hanging tight on Tach's other side struck Mackie somehow familiar. Probably one of the alien's toadies from Jokertown.

Tachyon was moving down a line, shaking hands or whatever. The thought of all that joker touch made Mackie's skin creep. He circled, like the shark in his song, who wears his teeth in his face.

You must be extremely careful, the Man had said. Tachyon is a mind reader. You must not let him sense your intention.

Good enough. He was Mack the Knife. He knew how to do these things.

It would be simple to phase through the crowd, approach from behind, buzz his hand and jam it right through Doctor precious Tachyon's alien fucking heart. It would be too simple.

He'd never done an alien before. Nor had he done anybody really big, really famous like Tachyon was.

He wanted to feel Tachyon's eyes in his. He wanted the little bastard to know who was killing him.

The jokers surged forward, carrying him right where he needed to go.

The world contracted to Tachyon and the touch.