The Jagged Orbit by John Brunner Page A

from those who were wealthy enough to afford privacy towards those who were not, in such matters as appearing personally to welcome visitors from below the poverty-line.
    In spite of the obscuring yash, it was possible to discern that the pythoness was young and graceful in her movements. Reedeth found himself hoping that she wouldn't be compelled to keep the yash on in front of the patients.

THIRTY-ONEEXCERPT FROM A RELIABLE GLOSSARY OF TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY USAGE
     
    Mackero (MAK-uh-roh) [Fr. maquereau mackerel, colloq. pimp; cf. "mack"] Manager, agent (e.g.) for young self-supporting female (photographic model, freelance singer, pythoness, e.g.); specif. male, not derog. unless abbr.

THIRTY-TWOHISS, HERS AND WHOSE?
     
    "Is everything as you like it, Mr. Kazer?" Ariadne said, unable to stop herself giving occasional nervous glances towards the omnipresent cameras. As well as Reedeth and Mogshack, she suspected that virtually every member of the staff was likely to be watching the show. It had damned well better be a success.
    Dan bent down and felt the wide thick mat which had been spread out to prevent Lyla hurting herself during her convulsive thrashing about. "That looks fine," he said. "Where can I connect my recorder?"
    "We'll be recording everything ourselves, naturally," Ariadne said. "And we have first-class facilities."
    Dan gave her a brief professional smile. "I'm sure you have. I'd still like to make a tape of my own. Copyright, you know."
    "Oh. Oh, yes—of course. Well, anywhere on the wall, then." Once more Ariadne's eyes flitted around the room. Watching, Reedeth had the distinct impression that she was stalling, delaying the start of the proceedings. Had she had second thoughts about her plan?
    Suddenly she relaxed, and in puzzlement he changed cameras for a more general scan. Just inside the door, which was still sliding closed, was standing a newcomer, who looked as though he had three heads. On his shoulders he was wearing a pair of eye-following stereovision cameras like extra skulls of polished metal. And the half-concealed face between them, crossed by a tonguetip-controlled switchbar, belonged to ...
    Matthew Flamen! Reedeth jolted forward in his chair. Although he was seldom able to watch the Flamen show, being at work on all the five days when it was transmitted at noon, he had met the vu-man twice directly following his wife's commitment.
    Was she here? Reedeth scanned the audience and at once spotted her familiar casque of dark brown hair, far to the back in an end seat. He saw Flamen wave to her, but she gave him a perfectly blank stare, and after a moment of astonished hesitation he continued towards the front of the room. There Ariadne presented him to the pythoness and her mackero, and words were exchanged which were tantalizingly out of range of the pickups.
    Turning away, Flamen began to discharge self-seeking mikes like so many kids' balloons, adjusting each to the flotational index of the air so it would maintain a constant height below the ceiling. Was his arrival chance or premeditation? And what did Mogshack think about a spoolpigeon turning up fully loaded with outside broadcasting equipment?
    Reedeth gave a sudden cynical chuckle and asked his desketary both questions. The answers—especially the one concerning the motives which had driven Mogshack to seek the publicity—proved beyond the slightest doubt that Madison had eliminated all the censor-circuits while he was at it.
    He was still chuckling when the dismaying thought crossed his mind that perhaps he wasn't the only person on the staff whose desketary had been unexpectedly modified by Madison. He asked about that too, and was assured that so far this one was unique. Greatly relieved, he turned his attention back to Ariadne.
    "I hardly need to introduce Mr. Matthew Flamen," she was saying loudly and clearly; she must have turned the pickups to full gain. "His face and voice are probably familiar to you from his