The man walking ahead of her was white, too-coat, pants, surgical mask at present dangling below his chin, tight ugly cap around his hair.

20 MINUTES "Thank God you finally made it!" Lola cried, "Ian's been pissing
himself!"
"Shut up! Drop dead!" Petronella rasped, and slapped the papers
out of Lola's hand as she offered them. "I don't give a fart who we have
on the show, not if it's the stinking King of England! I sure as hell am
not going out looking like this!"
"You won't have to, baby," Terry soothed, Inspecting the
discolored tresses. Lola, on the point of weeping, went down on hands
and knees to reclaim the scattered papers. "Lord, though, why didn't
you have it done at Guido's same as usual?"
"This happened at Guido's."
"What?" Terry was horrified. He insisted on everyone he handled
having their hair washed, styled, cut at Guido's, because it was the only
place in New York where they guaranteed their shampoos were done
with imported rainwater. They shipped it specially from Chile.
"Silver nitrate," Petronella sighed. "I contacted Guido at home and
blew my stack, and he checked up and called back almost weeping.
Seems they've been rain-making down there-remember I had a
rainmaker on the show last year? Guido thinks it reacted with the
setting lotion."
Marlon brought a choice of wigs. Terry seized one, and a brush and
comb and aerosol of lacquer. He brutally sabotaged Guido's efforts
into a tight layer close to the scalp and set about re-creating the same
style on the wig.
"Going to take long?" Petronella demanded.
"Couple of minutes," Terry said. He forbore to add that anything
Guide's best stylist could do, he could copy, only in a tenth of the time.
Everyone knew how good he was.
"Thank God. Lola, you bitch, where are my briefings?"
"Here!" the girl snuffled. Petronella flicked through the pages.
"Oh, yes, I remember. Jacob Bamberley-"
"He likes to be called Jack!" Lola cut in."Stuff what he likes. I run this show. Terry baby, we got the man
who sent all that poisoned shit to Africa. Know what I'm going to make
him do? I'm going to make him eat a bowlful of it right at the start of the
show, then come back to him at the end so people can see what it's
done to him."
Turning to the next briefing, she added thoughtfully, "And I shall
definitely call him Jacob."
This was a Globe Relief operation on behalf of Globe Relief. When
it became clear that Kaika's accusations weren't just propaganda, it
had been a matter of panic stations all around. It was no use stressing
the true fact that Globe was the largest aid organization on the planet
and invariably the soonest on the scene of a disaster. Simply because it
was American-based and American-funded, it was tarred with the
Vietnam brush. There was almost certain to be a UN inquiry shortly.
Accordingly State had made it very clear that unless Globe came up
promptly with a full defense the organization would have to be thrown
to the wolves. Inestimable trouble had already been caused by black
militants instantly prepared to believe in chemical genocide.
The obvious steps had naturally been taken. Samples of the
Nutripon still in store had been analyzed and given a clean bill. Now
suspicion had turned on the yeasts and fungi in the hydroponics plant:
could a rogue, akin say to the ergot mold of rye, have infected one
batch of the stuff with a natural psychedelic poison? It would have
helped if they'd had a sample from Noshri to study, but apparently it
had all been consumed or burned during the riots. So it was going to be
a slow job