Ace In The Hole

11:00 A.M.

"Doctor!"

He studied the handsome dark face, the intense eyes actively scanning the lobby of the Marriott. Missing nothing. Tach bowed slightly. "Reverend."

"Deserting the floor of the convention?"

"Too chaotic."

"And disappointing?" suggested Jesse Jackson softly.

"It will be all right." Tach cocked his head speculatively. "And you, entering the stronghold of the enemy?"

"Gregg Hartmann is not my enemy."

"Ah, then you would have no objection to dropping out, and handing your delegates to the senator?"

Jackson laughed. "Doctor, you beat me to the punch. May we talk?" He indicated a sofa near one wall of the upper lobby. AP, Time, the Sun Times, and the Post began circling like barracuda. Straight Arrow, the Mormon ace from Utah, and Jackson's ace bodyguard, eyed them with an unblinking stare. The news of Tachyon's bombshell had spread quickly through the security forces. To Tachyon's knowledgeable eye the lobby seemed filled with discretely armed men.

"Wouldn't your suite be more private?" asked the Takisian dryly.

The flash of white teeth behind the mustache. "Private is not what I'm after. Let 'em speculate."

Tachyon debated. Decided that perhaps he and the Reverend Jackson could use one another. Some might speculate that Tachyon's support of Hartmann was wavering. Others might decide that Jackson was about to endorse Hartmann.

They settled onto the sofa. The tall black man, the diminutive alien with one leg tucked up beneath him.

"I want you to transfer your support to me," said Jackson bluntly.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I'm the logical candidate to represent the jokers and aces. Together we can build a new world."

"I've been here forty-two years, Reverend, and I'm still waiting for that new world."

"You must not give in to cynicism, pessimism and despair, doctor. I hadn't expected that from you. You're a fighter-like me. " Tachyon didn't speak, and Jackson went on. "We have the same interests."

"Do we? I want to see my people protected. You want to be president."

"Help me become president, and then I can protect your people-a-ny people too." He frowned at the far wall. "Doctor, my foreparents came to America on slave ships. You came here in a spaceship, but we're in the same boat now. If Barnett becomes president we all suffer."

Tachyon shook his head more in confusion than negation. "I don't know. Gregg Hartmann has been our friend for twenty years. Why should I abandon him now?"

Help me. Kill me. Believe ine. He ruthlessly silenced the voices.

"Because he can't win. The senator is stalling. My people are reporting "Anyone-but- Hartmann" coalitions springing up all over the convention. If Gregg Hartmann can't stop Leo Barnett, Michael Dukakis certainly cannot."

"And you can?"

That self-confident grin that had galvanized a country. Like an arc light in its intensity. "Yes, I can." The smile faded, and he stared intently down at Tachyon. "I understand. I know abandonment, and people being mean to you, and saying you're nothing and nobody and can never be anything. I understand." His hand gripped the Takisian's shoulder.

Tachyon laid his hand over Jackson's. The same perfectly manicured nails, the same long slender fingers, but white on black. "Why is it when you and Barnett are reputed to serve the same god, your gods are so different?"

"A good question, Doctor. A very good question."

A Flying Ace glider sighed softly onto the tile at Tachyon's feet. He picked it up, stroked the molded white scarf with a forefinger. Jackson stared at the painted black face. His hand rose reflexively, and he drew his fingers down his cheek.

"Is your reluctance to back me entirely due to your loyalty, or is it because I'm black?"

Tach's head snapped up. "Burning Sky, no." He rose. "Believe me, Reverend, if I should ever decide to transfer my support from Gregg Hartmann you would be my first choice."

"You see, you have a charisma that is almost Takisian in its magnitude."

Jackson smiled. "And I take it that's a compliment?"

"Of the highest, Reverend, of the highest."