drew curious stares when he
entered, but by the time he'd gotten his Danish and coffee, everyone around him
was once again bent over their work, a field of balding cabbages anointed with
high-tech hair-care products.

Hershie's palms were slick, his alien hearts throbbing in counterpoint. His
cowlick wilted in the aggressive heat shimmering out of the vent behind his
sofa. He tried to keep himself calm, but by the time a gofer commed him and
squirted directions to the main ballroom, he was a wreck.

#

Hershie commed into the feed from the demonstration in time to see the Quakers
sit, en masse, along the barricade, hands intertwined, asses soaking in the
slush at the kerbside. The cops watched them impassively, and while they were
distracted, Thomas gave a signal to his crew, who hastily unreeled a
stories-high smartscreen, the gossamer fabric snapping taut in the wind as it
unfurled over the Convention Centre's facade.

The cops were suddenly alert, moving, but Thomas was careful to keep the screen
on his side of the barricade. Tina led a team of high-school students who spread
out a solar collector the size and consistency of a parachute. It glinted in the
harsh sun.

Szandor hastily cabled a projector/loudhailer apparatus to the collector.
Szandor's dog nipped at his heels as he steadied and focused the apparatus on
the screen, and Szandor plugged his comm into it and powered it up.

There was a staticky pop as the speakers came to life, loud enough to be heard
over the street noise. The powerful projector beamed its image onto the screen,
bright even in the midday glare.

There were hoots from the crowd as they recognised the feed: a live broadcast of
the keynote addresses in the Centre. The Patron Ik'Spir Pat's hoverchair
prominent. The camera lingered on the Patron's eyes, the only part of him
visible from within the chair's masking infrastructure. They were startling,
silvery orbs, heavy-lidded and expressionless.

The camera swung to Hershie. Szandor spat dramatically and led a chorus of
hisses.

Hershie hastily closed his comm and cleared his throat, adjusted his mic, and
addressed the crowd.

#

"Uh. . ." he said. His guts somersaulted. Time to go big or go home.

"Hi." That was better. "Thanks. I'm the Super Man. For years, I worked alongside
UN Peacekeeping forces around the world. I hoped I was doing good work. Most of
the time, I suppose I may have been."

He caught the eye of Brenda, the ch