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I had seen that evening who seemed wholly natural and human . I wondered if Trevellion had had a say in the girl's attire, so as not to be upstaged by her maid.
    The second figure was a fat, bald-headed man who I recognised from news broadcasts as Trevellion's surgeon, responsible for her alteration. He hovered close behind the fish-woman like some kind of piscean parasite, as if expecting his skills to be called upon at any second.
    "Ladies and gentlemen," Trevellion began in a clear, cold soprano, lights flashing off her iridescent scales. "I am, of course, honoured by your presence. Today is somewhat special for me, as you well know. It came to me that the occasion could not go without some form of event to mark it, a creation of surpassing merit. To this end, for the past month, I have endeavoured to create a montage with commentary for your appreciation. The piece is entitled "Memoriam" and will be screened, as ever, above the greensward in a little over thirty minutes. I sincerely hope you enjoy." A round of applause greeted the words, and I found myself joining in. Trevellion raised her hands in an imperious gesture, demanding silence. "Perhaps at this point, I might take the opportunity to mention that I have arranged a special live event to be performed next week..." At this, a murmur of appreciation spread through the audience. "I have been planning this event for some months now, and modestly believe it to be my finest creation. As yet untitled, it will symbolise Earth's relationship with Meridian. You are all invited." Trevellion inclined her head. "Thank you." More applause, and accepting it like royalty she stepped from the spotlight and circulated, the girl and the surgeon in close attendance.
    "Well," Doug commented, "that should be worth the wait. Trevellion's live events are quite something." He broke off and gestured to someone among a group of Augmenteds.
    Across the lawn Wolfe Steiner was engaged in conversation with a short, bearded man. When he saw Doug he excused himself with a civil bow and joined us. He towered over Doug, the effect of the two men side by side almost comical. The Director of the Telemass Organisation was attired in a severe black uniform; his silver hair, cropped short, emphasized his military bearing.
    "Inspector Foulds," he inclined his Augmented head towards the officer, then to Abe and myself.
    "Wolfe," Doug said jovially, and the use of his first name was like a challenge, "enjoying the party?" I was suddenly aware of a charge of ill-feeling between the Director and the Inspector.
    Unsmiling, the Director tipped his head to one side in a non-committal gesture. "As parties go, it is above the average."
    "We don't usually see you at these events," Doug went on.
    "I have been especially busy of late."
    I wondered if Director Steiner's air of detachment — although bodily present, he seemed absent, as if he had left his personality elsewhere — was the result of some belligerence between Doug and himself, or an effect of his Augmentation. Many Augmenteds I had met seemed to exist in a realm at one remove from reality, lost like autistics in some private inner world.
    "But work couldn't keep you away from this one, eh, Wolfe?"
    The Director deigned not to reply.
    Undeterred, Doug continued, "The event should be quite something, hm?"
    Steiner regarded him with eyes so brown they seemed black. A ribbed cupola braced his skull and held his head at a quizzical angle. His response came after a lapse of seconds.
    "I cannot honestly say that I am anticipating the event."
    Doug rubbed his hands together, gave a quick wink to Abe. "Oh, and why's that, Wolfe?"
    The Director considered. "In my opinion, tonight's event seems too calculated a response to be considered true art. Also, I am not sure that Tamara has recovered sufficiently from, and fully assimilated, her tragedy to produce a significant work on the subject." He became silent. Points of light sequenced along the surface of the