Distant Friends and Other Stories

DISTANT FRIENDS

RED THOUGHTS AT MORNING

It had been one of those long, frustrating days, the kind that makes you feel like the dish rag at a greasy spoon, and I wasn't in any shape for the Headline that jumped out at me as I opened my Des Moines Register that evening: TELEPATH KILLED IN HIJACKING.

I stood there, just inside my apartment door, rainwater running off my coat onto the rug, and read the first few paragraphs. Amos Potter, of Eureka, California, had been on a commuter flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles when three men at the other end of the plane produced guns and a bomb and demanded to go to Cuba. The pilot had obediently changed course, but had had to set down in Las Vegas for fuel.

Police and FBI men had stormed the plane, killing all three hijackers and wounding four passengers.

Amos hadn't been found until it was all over: he'd been stabbed in the heart with one of the galley's steak knives and left in one of the lavatories.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I tossed the paper aside. I'd never met Amos, of course; never even been within two hundred miles of him. But he'd been a sort of elder statesman to the rest of us, the embodiment of easy dignity and high moral character, and it was largely because of him that we had won any tolerance at all from the world.

I made my way to my couch and collapsed onto it. Colleen, I called.

Yes, Dale. She must have been expecting my call. I've seen the news, darling.

Why didn't you call and tell me? The news at noon mentioned the hijacking, but I didn't know Amos was aboard. Or... any of the rest of it.

Maybe I should have called you. Her thoughts wrapped soothingly around my pain, the telepathic equivalent of taking me in her arms. But I knew you were going to have a rough day, and I didn't want to dump this on top of you at the same time. Did that go all right?

More or less, I told her. Both sides spent the whole day arguing legal details before the judge. I got to sit there and listen to them discuss my abilities and ethics as if I wasn't there. When I wasn't being insulted I was being bored. Hardly seems important now, though, does it?

I know, she agreed soberly. Did you know Amos well?

Not really. I Felt her smile, and couldn't help smiling myself. It was truly the sort of answer a telepath would give: only when you don't know how complex human beings really are do you lightly state that you I know, she agreed soberly. Did you know Amos well?

Not really. I Felt her smile, and couldn't help smiling myself. It was truly the sort of answer a telepath would give: only when you don't know how complex human beings really are do you lightly state that you a couple of times a year just to talk with him. I'm going to miss him.

Yeah. We all are.

For a few minutes we sat silently, maintaining contact without words, Colleen's presence had a warm, comforting texture to it, and slowly the tensions of the day began to fade. Finally, I stirred. Have you discussed arrangements with any of the others yet?

A little. I talked to Gordon in Spokane, and he thought the only fair way was to let all of us draw straws to see who'd get to go to Eureka and attend the funeral.

No, I shook my head, it should be between those who knew Amos best. That would be Gordy and Nelson, I guess.

Colleen shifted uncomfortably. Do you think it would be wise to let Nelson go? I mean... you know how he gets sometimes.

Oh, he'd be all right, I assured her. He was only mildly paranoid to begin with, and living in San Diego's been good for him. Every time Amos went down to Los Angeles he improved a little; some of Amos's calmness had to rub off at that distance.

All right. She was willing to concede the point. Do you want me to suggest that to Gordon?

If you would. I thought for a second. With Amos gone, Gordy was out of touch with everyone except Colleen. I'll call Calvin in Pueblo and have him relay the message to Nelson.

You feel up to that?

I smiled. Yes. Thanks for always being there when I need you, Colleen.

Thank you, she said quietly, and I knew then that she'd received as much comfort from me as she'd given.

I love you, Colleen.

I love you, Dale. Good-bye.

We broke contact. I'd loved Colleen for nearly three years now, and she'd loved me even longer. And the knowledge that we would never meet each other was a dull ache permanently lodged in my throat.

What a stinking world.

Sighing, I got to my feet and headed for the kitchen to see about some supper.

Today, for the umpteenth time, Urban, the public defender, wanted to hear about my range. "Think of it as listening to someone whispering," I told him once more. "Within two or three feet I can't help but hear someone's thoughts. Farther away, up to about twenty or twenty-five feet, I can choose whether or not to listen; beyond that, I can't hear at all."

"Except with your fellow telepaths, of course," Urban said briskly, as if I needed reminding.

"The defendant isn't a telepath," I pointed out as patiently as possible.

"Of course not. Now, you referred to this as akin to hearing whispers. We all know how easy it is to misunderstand whispers sometimes-"

"The analogy referred to range, not accuracy," I interrupted. "If I can hear the thoughts at all I hear them clearly. Always."

He started to ask something else-and right then, for no particular reason, the crucial question hit me like a Trident missile.

How the hell do you unexpectedly stab a telepath?

It had to have been unexpected; the lavatory door had been unlocked and the paper hadn't mentioned any signs of a struggle. But that was impossible; given the circumstances. Amos was most certainly reading out to his full range. So why hadn't he seen the killer coming?

Urban had finished his question by the time I made up my mind. "Excuse me," I said, pulling out my handkerchief and pretending to clear my sinuses. I didn't want to just go glassy-eyed on them, after all; I've learned that sort of thing can be disconcerting to people. But safely hidden behind the handkerchief, I could make my contact. Calvin? Calvin, are you there? Calvin?

Right here, Dale, came the calm thought. You sound agitated.

I'm getting there, I agreed. Listen, you've got the location log this quarter, right? Can you clear me to Las Vegas tonight? It's important.

From Des Moines? That was Calvin-no unnecessary questions asked. Any direct flight would bring you too close to Pueblo, but I could move out of town for a few hours if necessary.

No, it's not worth that. Besides, I doubt there's a direct flight, anyway.

Then if you go via Denver or Salt Lake we should be all right.

Great. I'll make some reservations and get back to you as soon as I know my schedule.

Yeah, okay.

Calvin was getting curious. I trust you'll tell me what all this is about sometime.

Sure, but later. I've got to go now.

Talk to you later.

I slid my handkerchief back in my pocket. Already I felt better. "Now, what was that question again, Mr.

Urban?"

I got through the rest of the morning without any real trouble. During lunch break I called a travel agent and he worked out a pair of connecting flights that would get me into Las Vegas by ten. That was later than I'd wanted, but my option was to wait until after Gordy had come and gone. This way I'd have at least most of tomorrow before I had to leave town.

The judge and lawyers weren't happy about my announcement that I was taking a few days off, but they accepted it with the grace of reasonable men who have no real choice in the matter. By seven-thirty that evening I was on the first leg of my flight... and by eight we were circling Denver, just a hundred miles from Calvin's home in Pueblo.

It's a strange sort of sensation, and more than a little scary the first time you experience it. Even a hundred miles apart. Calvin and I were now close enough that it was no longer possible to block our surface thoughts from each other: to tune each other out, so to speak. It's the same thing that happens when a telepath and human are only two or three feet apart, but with the extra complication that it's a true two-way communication. If the plane now suddenly turned due south and Calvin and I got even closer...

but that wasn't something I wanted to think about.

Of course, as long as you didn't panic, the effortless communication provided by a close approach was a good opportunity to talk. Calvin and I spent quite some time doing just that, discussing life in general and ourselves and our fellow telepaths in particular. But he couldn't hide his curiosity about my sudden trip, just as I couldn't hide my somewhat perverse decision to make him bring up the subject first.

Calvin cracked first. All right, you win, he said at last. You're not going to Vegas just to say good-bye to Amos-I can tell that much. So?

You're right. I explained as best I could the questions I had about Amos's death-not an easy task, since a lot of my feelings hadn't really made it to verbal level yet.

He mulled at the problem for a bit after I finished, his thoughts an orderly flow of questions, possibility, and logic. Interesting, he said. I agree; something here doesn't ring quite true. I don't know, though.

Suppose one of the hijackers recognized Amos, decided to kill him to cover their trail, and threatened to kill some of the other passengers too unless Amos went quietly? He was nobler than the rest of us put together, and I could see him giving in under those circumstances.

Maybe, I said slowly. But I still don't like it.

You'll be the first I call, I assured him.

Good. Oh, one other thing you may not have heard about yet: the questions been making the rounds today as to whether or not we should ban commercial air travel by our members.

I thought we settled that issue years ago.

We did, but it's getting another look. If there's going to be a resurgence of hijackings, the margin of safety's going to be all fouled up, and it may be smart to stick with trains or private planes for a while.

Suppose, for instance, Amos's plane had been diverted to Pueblo or Des Moines instead of Vegas.

We both shuddered. Yeah, I agreed soberly. But I think the risks can be minimized.

Yeah, well, I'm not going to debate it with you now. Just think about it, and we'll all discuss it together in a week or so.

Okay. I'd better enjoy this trip, I thought glumly-it might be the last I could take for a while.

Fine. Well, you seem pretty tired, so I think we should break now. I'll talk to you later, Dale.

I glanced out the window in mild surprise. Our layover was over, and we were once again airborne.

Beneath the plane the ground was dark; Denver was far behind us. The close approach was over. Good night, Calvin, I said, and broke contact.

I dozed the rest of the trip, trying to ignore the peculiar looks and even more peculiar thoughts the stewardess kept sending my way.

Sometime during the middle of the night I decided I hated Las Vegas, and that first impression was solidified the next morning during my taxi ride to police headquarters. It wasn't just the high proportion of the criminal element roaming the streets: every city has some of that. Rather, it was the greed, goldlust, and despair I could sense all around me. This was a frantic town, a city founded on hedonism and life's more transient gains, and it simultaneously angered and depressed me. It seemed grossly unfair that Amos Potter, a man who had loved the quiet outdoors and had spent his life helping others, should have had to die here.

But the police, at least, were courteous and helpful, and I was routed to the proper officer with a minimum of delay. He was a squat, muscular man with a swarthy complexion and the unlikely but circumstantially appropriate name of Lieutenant James Bond.

"Honest," he insisted as he gave me a quick handshake. "What can I do for you?"

"My name's Dale Ravenhall," I told him. "I wanted to ask a few questions about the recent death of Amos Potter."

He recognized my name and drew back almost imperceptibly. "I see. I'm sorry about Mr. Potter. Was he a good friend of yours?" name-Sergeant Tom Avery-which I filed away for future reference. "I was called in right away to head that part of the investigation."

"Were there any signs of a struggle? The newspapers didn't mention any."

"No, there weren't, and that's something I don't understand. You people are supposed to read minds at a pretty good distance, right? So why didn't Mr. Potter lock the door?"

I scowled. "I don't know. That's one of the things that bothers me about this."

"What are the others?"

"The lack of struggle, for one," I said, sensing even as I ticked off my list that he had many of the same questions. "The use of one of the galley knives for the murder when they had guns. How come they were clever enough to smuggle those guns aboard in the first place, and yet got themselves killed on their first stop."

"You missed two important ones," Bond said. "Why did they pick a puddle-jumping commuter plane from San Francisco, of all places, to hijack to Cuba? And why didn't Mr. Potter contact one of you people before he died?"

I frowned. That last hadn't occurred to me. "I don't know. I was too far away myself at that time, but maybe he did talk to one of the others. I can check on that right now, if you'd like."

Bond had never watched a telepath in action and wasn't sure he wanted to start now. But professional considerations outweighed any squeamishness. "Go ahead; I'd like to know."

From my close-approach contact with Calvin last night I already knew Amos hadn't contacted him before his death. Gordy was a long shot; I tried briefly to get him, but the distance was a shade too great.

That left only one possibility. Nelson? Are you there, Nelson?

Yes, of course, Dale. What is it?

If Colleen's mental texture was one of warmth and love, and Calvin's one of calmness, Nelson's always struck me as predominantly nervous. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi.

In the neighborhood?

Las Vegas. Light conversation was often lost on Nelson. Listen, Nelson, I've been trying to track down some questions about Amos's death.

What sort of questions?

Oh, just some loose ends. Nelson's nervousness was contagious, and I didn't want to prolong the contact. Besides, Lieutenant Bond was waiting. I wondered if Amos had had a chance to contact you before the end.

No, he said, almost too quickly. But I might have been out of range.

Where were you?

I flew down to Baja for a couple of days. His tone said it was none of my business where he and his Piper Comanche had gone. I was flying back when the news came.

Okay, just wanted to check. You doing okay?

Save your sympathy, Dale. I'm fine.

Right. I'll be talking to you later.

Bond nodded when I relayed the conversation. "That was Nelson Follstadt, right? Do you think you can believe him?"

I bristled. "Of course. Why would he lie?"

He shrugged. "I hear he has some psychological problems."

"Well... yes, he does, but he's improved a lot lately. And he's been away from the other telepath for nearly ten years, so there's no place to go but up."

"Come again? What other telepath?"

This wasn't really the time for a lecture, but Bond truly didn't understand. And I've always tried to avoid littering my path with mysterious statements and obscure hints. Oh, well, you've probably heard that telepaths can't get too close to each other. That's because the contact gets stronger with decreasing distance, and the two personalities begin to meld into one. At about twenty miles apart-theoretically-the strain becomes too great and both telepaths go permanently insane."

Neither Bond's face nor his thoughts were very pleasant. "Is that what happened to Nelson Follstadt?"

"Fortunately, no. The telepathic ability grows with age, and it's only as you get into the teens that it becomes strong enough for any risk of insanity to show up. Nelson just happened to grow up in the same city with another fledgling telepath, and before they were identified and split up the small effects had gradually built up into a mild paranoia. But, as I said, Nelson's improving."

"What about the other telepath?"

"He committed suicide six years ago." One of our group's worst failures, I reminded myself bitterly.

"Oh." Bond was silent for a moment, wondering if he should ask his next question. I let him take his time.

"There's one other thing I've been wondering about," he finally said. "I've heard rumors that you people can... well, force normal humans to do what you want. Is that true? And if so, why didn't Mr. Potter stop the hijacking?"

"It's true, in about the same way the CIA and certain religious cults can impose their will on people. It would take almost continuous contact between telepath and subject for several days straight to accomplish it, though. Amos couldn't possibly have done anything in the time he had."

"Hmm. Okay, I'm surprised the CIA hasn't shanghaied you, though. You sound like you'd be handy to have around."

"Some of us have been tested by various agencies. There are drugs that are faster and easier to use.

Look, we're getting off the subject. Is there anything else you can tell me about Amos's death or about the hijacking in general?"

"Sorry." He shook his head. "You've got all the obvious facts; the others will have to wait for the lab work. If you'll give me your number, I'll get in touch when I know something more."

"I'd appreciate that." I wrote my Des Moines number on a card and, for good measure, added Calvin's.

"I may be moving around in the next few days, but Calvin Wolfe here will be able to relay any messages."

"Fine." He gave me a thoughtful look. "Nelson Follstadt's closer, you know. Don't you trust him?"

"Sure I do. I just-well, Calvin's a closer friend."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for stopping by, Mr. Ravenhall. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks." I shook his hand again and left.

His last question bothered me all the way back to the hotel. Why hadn't I given him Nelson's number?-Especially since Nelson was closer to Eureka, where I had already more or less decided to go next. Was there something about that last contact I'd had with him that had bothered me? Certainly, Nelson had been nervous, but that was normal for him... wasn't it? I was beginning to regret having broken off the contact so quickly. My chance was now gone for further questioning; if I called back with the same questions I was likely to stir up Nelson's quiescent paranoia, and I couldn't take that just now.

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly noon. Flopping onto my back on the bed, I closed my eyes. Calvin?

Yo, Calvin?

Hello, Dale. Learned anything interesting?

Yes and no. I've found the cop in charge of the investigation has some of the same questions I do, but he doesn't have the answers either. Is Gordy still due in here at six, and when is he heading over to Eureka?

Yes, and tomorrow morning.

I need a favor. Would you ask him to delay either leg of his trip by twenty-four hours?

Well... I suppose I could ask him. Why?

I'd like to go up to Eureka myself and look around. No particular reason, I added, anticipating his next question. I'd heard Amos had suspended his psychotherapy practice and was working on something special. I'd like to check it out.

I can save you some trouble, if that's all you want. According to Gordy, Amos was trying to build some kind of electronic gadget for locating new telepaths.

My jaw dropped. You're kidding. I hadn't heard a whisper about that. I didn't even know it was theoretically possible.

My jaw dropped. You're kidding. I hadn't heard a whisper about that. I didn't even know it was theoretically possible.

Now that I thought about it, I remembered Amos had earned a master's in electrical engineering before switching to psychology. How far had he gotten?

Gordy didn't know. He was planning to try to find out when he went up there.

I pondered. Calvin, I'd still like to go to Eureka tonight.

Okay, I'll try to work things out with Gordy. If not, you two'll be in contact range within a few hours and can hash it over between yourselves.

Thanks. One other thing. I hesitated. Nelson told me he was in Baja when Amos died. Is that true?

Calvin was silent for a moment, and I could sense his surprise. Accusing another telepath, even implicitly, of lying was serious business. As a matter of fact, I don't know. Nelson is a bit of a maverick sometimes, and I'm pretty sure he occasionally takes his Comanche out for a short spin without telling anyone. I think he resents having his movements watched so closely, especially when he doesn't think it necessary.

I grunted. That was just great. Maybe I should give him personal notice that I'm heading to Eureka. I'll talk to you later, Calvin. Thanks for your help.

Sure. Good hunting.

For a moment I just lay there, thinking. Then I rolled over, snared the phone, and placed a call to the airport.

I got into Eureka at eight that evening and rented a car for the drive out to Amos's home. I'd never been there before, but Gordy had given me detailed directions earlier in the day and I found the unpretentious little ranch house without difficulty. Mrs. Lederman, Amos's long-time housekeeper, was waiting there for me; with typical foresight, Calvin had phoned to tell her I was coming.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Ravenhall," she said when I had identified myself. "Please excuse the mess; I haven't felt much like cleaning today."

"It looks fine," I assured her. Her plump, middle-aged face had lost most of the signs of recent crying; the scars in her psyche would take much longer to heal. I didn't intend to pry, but the texture of her surface thoughts made it obvious that she had loved Amos deeply. I wondered how he had felt about her, and the thought inevitably turned my mind toward Colleen.... Wrenching hard, I forced myself back to business. "Mrs. Lederman, did Amos say or do anything unusual before he left? Anything that might imply he was worried or suspicious about something?"

She shook her head. "I've been thinking about it ever since Mr. Wolfe called from Colorado this afternoon and I can't come up with anything. Amos seemed a bit preoccupied when he returned from Los Angeles about two weeks ago, but that cleared up quickly and he went back to work on his telepath finder-I expect you've heard of that by now."

"Yes. Who besides you knew he was working on it?"

"Nelson?" That made sense, I suppose. One main use of the gadget would probably be to locate young telepaths before any accidental psychic damage occurred, and knowing such a thing was in the works might ease any fears Nelson had about being hurt like that again. "Would you let me see where Amos worked?"

"If you'd like," she shrugged, and I caught something about a mountain retreat from her mind. "But most of his electronics work was done at his cabin in the Sierra. It was more peaceful there, he used to tell me; nobody else thinking nearby."

She led me down the hall to Amos's workroom, and I poked around there for a few minutes without finding anything interesting. "Can you tell me how to get to his cabin?"

"Well... it was sort of private, but I guess it'd be okay now. But it'd take five or six hours to get there.

You ever driven mountains at night?"

"Enough to know I don't want to try it in an unfamiliar area. I'll head out in the morning. If you'll give me those directions, I'll go now and get out of your way."

"No need for that," she shook her head. "I've made up the guest room for you."

"Oh. Thanks very much, but I don't think I ought to stay."

"It's no trouble. I'm leaving in a few minutes, anyway, and you'll have the place to yourself. Amos was always hospitable, Mr. Ravenhall," she added, as I opened my mouth to refuse again. "I know he would have wanted you to stay here."

What could I say to that?

She gave me a quick guided tour of the premises to show me where everything was, and then left, locking the front door behind her. I watched her car disappear down the road and then, moved by an obscure impulse, returned to Amos's workroom.

Off in one corner of the room was a small writing desk almost buried under neat piles of paper and correspondence. I'd ignored it the last time I came through, but now I went over and gazed down at it. A

proper investigation should include a search of Amos's papers... but I had no right to pry like that.

Besides, if I found something significant, would I even know it? I still didn't really know what I was looking for. Resolutely, I started to turn away... and as I did, the return address on one of the envelopes caught my eye. It was that of a Las Vegas casino.

Frowning, I picked up the letter. It was unopened, postmarked the day before Amos's death. Feeling guilty, I opened it.

The message was very brief: Dear Mr. Potter, Thank you for your note of the 4th. We are quite interested in your proposal, and would very much like to discuss it in person with you. Please let us know when it would be convenient for us to fly you down for a meeting.

Thank you for your note of the 4th. We are quite interested in your proposal, and would very much like to discuss it in person with you. Please let us know when it would be convenient for us to fly you down for a meeting.

I reread the letter twice without making any more sense of it. What was Amos doing getting mixed up with Vegas casino owners? What kind of offer was he making? And was it pure coincidence that Amos had subsequently died in that very city?

Some of those questions might be answered if I could find the carbon of Amos's original letter, but a two-hour search convinced me that it wasn't anywhere in the house. Unless Amos had destroyed it or Mrs. Lederman had taken it away, there was only one other place it was likely to be. More than ever, now, I wanted to get to Amos's mountain retreat.

I was rudely awakened from a restless dream by an insistent knocking at the base of my mind, and it took me a second to realize that I was being contacted. Yes?

It was Gordy. Dale, are you all right?

Sure. I sneaked a look at my watch. Four thirty, and I was lying fully clothed on Amos's guest room bed.

Why do you ask?

When you hadn't checked in by midnight Calvin and I started getting worried. We thought something might have happened to you.

Just fatigue, I assured him. I'm sorry, though; I had intended to contact you last night. I guess I was more bushed than I thought. Listen, I may have something interesting here. Did you know Amos had a cabin in the Sierra?

Yes, but I don't know where it is.

I do. I repeated the location Mrs. Lederman had given me. I understand he did most of the work on his telepath finder up there; I'm going to go see how far he got with the gadget. And to check on something unexpected that's just cropped up. I described the contents of the letter I'd found.

What do you think it means? a new voice asked.

I jumped. Calvin? Damn, but you startled me-I didn't know you were listening in. Come to think of it, how come you're within range?

Because I'm in Salt Lake City, he explained. I flew here last night to give Gordy a hand in raising you.

Now, what about this letter?

I haven't the foggiest. But I think it might be important.

Maybe, Gordy said cautiously. I gather you'd like me to stay here in Vegas until you're finished with everything?

If you would. I think it would make things simpler if I didn't have to keep track of where you were going to be. Another day or two at the most.

Okay. Nelson will calm down eventually, I suppose.

How's that?

You didn't know? No, I guess not. He was going to fly up to Eureka after I left to attend Amos's funeral.

He was furious that we were delaying things so that you could go running around robbing Amos of his last shred of dignity.

That last was a direct quote, Calvin added.

I winced. Yeah. I'm sorry. But I still think it's got to be done.

We're not blaming you, Dale, Calvin said. Just finish up as quickly as possible, okay?

Will do, I promised. Look, I'd better let you two go. I'll contact you when I get to the cabin. Honest.

Gordy chuckled. Okay. See you.

I stared out the window at the predawn darkness for a full minute. Further sleep would be impossible; something in the back of my mind was urging speed. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I located my shoes and headed to the kitchen for a fast breakfast.

Half an hour later I was driving towards the rising sun.

I'd half-expected Amos's cabin to be some rude shack on the side of a mountain, and was therefore vaguely surprised to find a quite modern-looking structure, complete with phone and power lines snaking their way down the mountain. With the key Mrs. Lederman had left me, I let myself in. The interior was as modern as the Eureka house, but not nearly as tidy; Mrs. Lederman probably didn't get up here very often. It was basically a single room, efficiency style, almost a third of which was taken up by a long work table holding about a ton of electronic equipment. In the center of the work table was Amos's telepath finder.

There was no doubt as to what it was. Clearly homemade, it consisted of a metal box the size of a portable tape player with a pivoting direction pointer protected by a plastic dome mounted on top. There were only two switches: on/off and general/tare. Calvin? Gordy? Anyone home?

Right here, Calvin answered. Where are you, Dale?

At Amos's cabin. I've found the telepath finder.

You made good time, Gordy grunted, sleep-cobwebs still evident in his mind. I'd forgotten they'd been up much of the night trying to contact me. What's it look like?

I described it for them. That's it? Calvin asked. No range meter or anything like that?

Nope. Maybe Amos planned to work on one next. Of course, you could always get range by triangulation.

Right. Have you tried it yet?

No. I wanted you two here when I did. Any ideas what this general/tare thing is?

That makes sense, I agreed. Okay, brace yourselves. Here goes.

With the second switch set at "general" I reached out and flipped the device on. Instantly, the needle on top swiveled around and came to a stop pointing at my belt buckle. I took a couple of steps to the right; the needle followed me. Seems to work, I told the others. Now I'll try it on "tare." I flipped the second switch and waited.

Nothing. The needle moved a fraction toward the west, but was still pointing at me when it stopped. I flipped the switch back and forth a couple of times, but the needle refused to move farther than a few degrees. This part isn't working.

You sure? Gordy asked.

Yeah. I'm standing on the finder's north side, so if it edits me out it should swing around to point south-east, where you two and Nelson are. It certainly shouldn't point north by west. I turned it off. We can worry about this later. I'm going to see if I can find that car'

One corner of the work table was piled with papers. Leafing through the whole stack would take only minutes; as it happened, my search was considerably snorter. I've found it.

Read it to us, Calvin said.

I skipped Amos's identification of himself and his list of credentials. The interesting part was in the second paragraph: It has recently come to my attention that one of our group has been making periodic visits to your area for the purpose of "gambling"-I use quotation marks because, for him, certain games will not be governed by chance. No names need be mentioned; I do not intend to aid you in catching or prosecuting him, but merely wish this unfair practice to stop. My efforts to dissuade him have failed, so as a last resort I am offering you a deterrent in the form of a telepath finder....

Gambling? Gordy seemed shocked. Who of us would do something like that? That's just crazy.

I think we all came up with the same name simultaneously. Calvin was the first to admit it. If Amos was right, there's only one of us who has really convenient access to Vegas, who can sneak in and out without too much risk of close-approach problems.

I sighed. You mean Nelson?

DAMN YOU ALL! WHY CAN'T ANY OF YOU MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS?

All three of us jumped violently. It was Nelson's voice, but so convulsed with fury as to make it almost unrecognizable. Hey, Nelson, take it easy, I said. We didn't know you were listening in.

Of course not. You'd much rather plot my destruction in private, wouldn't you? You and that holier-than-thou Amos. Well, I warned him!

Something was wrong here. Even given Nelson's strong emotion, his contact shouldn't be this strong.

Nelson, where are you? I asked carefully.

Something was wrong here. Even given Nelson's strong emotion, his contact shouldn't be this strong.

Nelson, where are you? I asked carefully.

Damn you, Nelson! Gordy suddenly interjected. You killed him, didn't you? Amos caught you sneaking into Vegas, so you conditioned those thugs to hijack the plane and kill him!

It was his own fault, Nelson shot back. It was none of his damn business how I make my money. I had to do it-can't you see that?

He'd gone from angry to pleading in the space of a single sentence, and I didn't like it a bit. Was he starting to crack up?

You'd like that, wouldn't you? Well, if I go, you're going with me!

And that shook me clear down to my toes. It had come up so quickly and so unexpectedly that I hadn't noticed: Nelson and I were in close-approach contact.

Nelson was only a hundred miles away!

And getting closer, he mocked me. I know where you are, too; I listened to you give the directions to your pals this morning. I'll be overhead before you know it.

Nelson, are you nuts? Gordy cut in. You'll kill both of you.

And why not? You're all out to destroy me anyway. I might as well take one of you with me. I've got nothing to lose now.

Dale, get out of there, Calvin ordered. You've got to try and get away from him.

I took three steps toward the door and froze. Get away where? I don't know what direction he's coming from!

Nelson laughed. His thoughts were getting progressively louder, and it was becoming harder and harder to hear Gordy and Calvin over the noise. Calvin had to virtually shout his next message. Use the telepath finder. Maybe it really is working.

I sprang over to the table, snatched up the box, and flipped the switch. In "tare" mode it once again pointed north by west-and stayed there even when I moved out of the way. Instead of coming straight up from San Diego, Nelson had circled around and was bearing down on me from the north. Clutching the box like a talisman, I ran outside to the car.

And then the nightmare began.

There was no way I could outrun Nelson, and we both knew it. His Piper Comanche had a cruising speed of at least a hundred eighty miles an hour and could travel in a straight line, while I had to stay on winding mountain roads at a quarter of his speed. If I could have gone at right angles to his path, let him overshoot me, I might have had a chance. But it was already too late for that sort of trick. Nelson had complete access to my surface thoughts, and there was no way for me to make any plans without his knowledge.

complete access to my surface thoughts, and there was no way for me to make any plans without his knowledge.

I gritted my teeth and drove on, trying in vain to shut out the increasing pressure slowly crushing my mind.

A curve came up, too fast. I tapped on the brake, managed to negotiate the turn without losing too much speed. Every fiber of my being was screaming for me to get away, but I had no intention of driving off a cliff for Nelson's convenience. Wiping my palms, one at a time, on my pants, I tried to think.

I was completely cut off from Calvin and Gordy now-the close approach had been blocking any other contact practically from the minute I left the cabin. They would know enough to call the police, of course, but there was little chance the cops could help me. It would be less than an hour before Nelson closed to the twenty-mile gap that would ensure mental disintegration for both of us. The Air Force? They could act swiftly, but they'd first have to be persuaded to get involved. And in a completely non-military situation like this, the chances of that were essentially zero.

A reddish haze, more felt than seen, was growing at the edge of my mind. Nelson, why are you doing this to us? It can't gain you anything.

You've all worked against me: you, Amos, Calvin-everybody. You've robbed me of the money and power I could have had-that I deserved. But at least I command my own death. And before that I'm going to make you fear me. You are afraid, aren't you, Dale?

He knew I was. For himself, Nelson felt no fear: only pain, anger, and morbid satisfaction. His death wish wrapped around me, tinging the reddish haze with black. Blinking back tears of agony, I kept going.

I don't know how long I drove, or how many close calls I had with the many cliffs I passed. Indeed, I hardly even noticed the road any more; I drove by sheer reflex. As inexorably as the tide, Nelson's mind slowly washed over mine. Our thoughts, memories, and emotions intertwined, becoming bent and altered by the force of the collision. I saw his decision to kill Amos, and his conditioning of an airline attendant and three drifters to set up and execute the hijacking. I watched the agony of Amos's death, and knew that he'd realized, too late, what was happening. Nelson's current plan was laid bare; how he'd tried to beat me to the cabin and destroy both the telepath finder and the evidence of his gambling. I felt his lust for power, his anger and frustrations-at himself, me, the work!-his self-doubts... and all this was becoming part of me. I was slowly being lost in this thing, this Dale/Nelson creature which was being created; and the knowledge that Nelson was similarly being swallowed up only added to my terror.

And all too soon, I saw the end approaching.

I mean that literally, for in a very real sense whatever there was that was still Dale Ravenhall was now occupying two separate bodies. I could actually see both the road ahead of me and the more majestic view from Nelson's Comanche. I could feel the plane's vibration, touch two different steering wheels...

and I knew the agony would soon be over.

Yes, soon we'll be dead. Was that my thought or Nelson's? Not that the distinction mattered much any more. I paused for a moment to look through Nelson's eyes, to gaze at the mountains I would never see again... and, suddenly, a sharp left-hand curve around a cliff loomed ahead.

I gasped, and Nelson's death wish within me fragmented as a surge of survival instinct snapped a portion of my mind out of the growing chaos. Stomping hard on the brake, I wrenched the wheel hard to the left; and as the squeal of tires filled my ears, I saw I had overcorrected. The side of the mountain rushed at me, and I leaned back, bracing for the crash.

and as the squeal of tires filled my ears, I saw I had overcorrected. The side of the mountain rushed at me, and I leaned back, bracing for the crash..

I woke up slowly, painfully, and with a sense of complete disorientation; but what I noticed first was the silence. It was just me again, Dale Ravenhall, and the other presence was gone. Was I dead?

He's awake.

I cringed involuntarily as the thought touched my mind. The other knew it immediately and hastened to reassure me. It's all right, Dale, it's all right. It's just me, Colleen. You remember me?

I swallowed hard and, timidly, reached out. Is that really you, Colleen?

It's really me. And Gordon and Calvin are here, too, if you feel like talking to them.

How're you feeling? Gordy asked.

Better, I answered. I was starting to wake up now, and memories were coming back. Where am I?

Sacramento, Calvin told me. They airlifted you there after you crashed your car. You were pretty lucky; minor injuries only.

Yeah. I was dreading the next question, but I had to ask it. What happened back there? How did I escape?

Nelson crashed. Went into a dive somehow and ran smack into a mountain. The experts think he must have turned and come down too fast; there's no evidence of mechanical failure.

I nodded within myself. In those last seconds I'd been in the Comanche's cockpit as well as in my own car-and in the latter I'd turned left, hit the leftmost pedal, and pushed on the wheel. Apparently, I'd done the same in the plane. But I couldn't tell the others what had happened. Not yet.

Calvin was speaking again. You've been under sedation for the last three days while a handful of top psychiatrists did some tests. They say you've got all the symptoms of dissociative hysteria, but that you have a good chance of recovering with proper care and some hard work.

Unbidden, tears formed in my eyes, and I clenched my teeth to keep them back. Maybe. But who's going to come out of this recovery? Dale Ravenhall? Or a Dale/Nelson mixture?

There was a pause. We don't know, exactly, Colleen said gently. But whatever changes have been forced on you, you're still Dale Ravenhall. Hang onto that thought, that reality. You're still our friend, and we'll stick by you and give you all the help we can.

Even if I turn out to be partly Nelson?

We would have done the same for Nelson, Calvin said. He was one of us, too. Try not to hate him, Dale.

I don't hate him for me. But I won't soon forgive him for killing Amos the same way he tried to kill me.

What do you mean, the same way?

But that's where his conditioned hijackers took the plane. Colleen sounded confused.

Which is exactly what he wanted. Don't you see? Picture Amos rushing helplessly toward a fatal contact with Nelson, who is pretending he is there just by chance. You all know how noble and selfless Amos was. What would he do in that situation?

There was a long pause, the texture of which changed from puzzled to horrified to very sad. He would have committed suicide rather than let them both die, Calvin said at last. That's what happened, isn't it?

I nodded wearily, and Colleen must have sensed my fatigue. I think we'd better go now and let Dale get some rest, she said. Dale, we'll be here as long as you are, so just call whenever you want to talk. Okay?

Sure. Thank you-all of you.

Take care, Dale. We'll talk to you later.

I turned my head to the side against my pillow. Sleep was pulling at me, and I welcomed the temporary oblivion it would bring. I am Dale Ravenhall, I said to myself and to the universe around me. You hear me? I am Dale Ravenhall. I am Dale Ravenhall....

I was saying it right up to the moment I fell asleep. Down deep, I knew it wasn't completely true.

DARK THOUGHTS AT NOON

Like a crazed hawk the Piper Comanche dives at me through the red mist. I am flying her; desperately, I grip the wheel, trying to keep the cars screeching tires on the road winding through the mountains. Agony clouds my vision, permeates every fiber of my being. In the distance I hear a bell ring. Ask not for whom the bell rings... no, that's not right, but I can't remember how it should be. Beneath me the road sweeps past/the toy-like mountains crawl past. I am Dale Ravenhall/I am Nelson Follstadt/I am Dale/I am Nelson-pain pain pain. The bell rings again- And as quickly as it began, the daymare was over. I was back in my house on the outskirts of Des Moines, trembling slightly with reaction. Downstairs, the front doorbell rang.

I took a deep breath and got up from the desk chair where I'd been sitting, feeling my shirt stick to my back as I did so. I headed out of the room, and was halfway down the stairs when the call came.

Dale, are you all right?

It was Colleen, of course; she's usually the only one who can tell when I've hit one of my daymares. Sure, Colleen, I assured her. It wasn't too bad this time.

At a hundred thirty-odd miles away in Chillicothe, Missouri, she was still far enough away from me to edit the thoughts I sent her, but even so the fib was a waste of time. Oh, Dale, she sighed, and I instantly felt like a heel as warmth and strength flowed from her, chasing away the final bits of the vision's darkness. It'll get better, darling-it has to. Do you want to tell me about it?

Not really. I'd found out months ago that talking about the daymares didn't do anything to eliminate them.

Look, honey, there's someone at the door. I'll call you back when I'm free.

Not really. I'd found out months ago that talking about the daymares didn't do anything to eliminate them.

Look, honey, there's someone at the door. I'll call you back when I'm free.

I love you, too.

We broke contact, and I felt the usual frustration well up inside me. Frustration at my daymares, at Colleen's quiet refusal to return to her beloved Saskatchewan as long as I still needed her close by; but most of all, frustration at the universe's uncaring decree that had kept us apart all our lives. And once more I swore I was going to find a way around that law, no matter what it cost me.

I continued down the stairs, and as I reached the front hall I caught the first wisps of thought from those waiting outside my door. There were two of them, one of whom I recognized almost immediately from the texture of his surface thoughts. The other was a stranger, but knowing Rob Peterson had brought him here made his business obvious. Reaching the door, I opened it wide. "Come in, Rob; Mr.-ah-Green," I said, pulling Ted Green's name from Rob's thoughts.

Green blinked, and I felt him reflexively shrink back as he realized what I'd just done. Rob just grinned and strolled on in; after four months of working for me he'd long since gotten used to telepathic shortcuts.

With only a brief hesitation and a measuring look at me Green followed. Pretending I hadn't noticed, I closed the door behind them, then led the way to the living room. We sat down, and I got right down to business.

"First of all," I said, addressing Green, "what has Rob told you about my project?"

"Nothing, really." He shrugged. He'd taken the farthest chair from me that courtesy permitted, and while he wasn't quite out of range there, the thoughts I could get were barely surface ones. But Rob was closer, and his thoughts verified Green's words. "He told me you needed something electronic built, and that I'd be working with the most intriguing bit of gadgetry I'd ever see." He smiled shyly. "How could I pass up a come-on like that?"

It was right then that I decided I didn't like Ted Green. The shy smile was pure affectation, completely out of sync with the cool, calculating mind I'd already glimpsed there. That sort of gambit used by that sort of person, I've found, is usually an attempt at emotional manipulation, a practice I detest. "How indeed," I said shortly. "Before I tell you more, I want it clearly understood that this information is strictly confidential, and that whether you take the job or not you'll keep it to yourself."

"I understand."

"All right." I pursed my lips, mentally preparing myself. I didn't want another daymare now. "Have you ever heard of Amos Potter?"

"Sure," was the prompt reply. "He was a telepath from California-worked as a psychologist, I think. He died last April during a plane hijacking, stabbed by one of the hijackers. Seems to me that was just a few days before your own accident, wasn't it?"

I forced a nod. Amos hadn't been killed by the hijackers, but had been forced into suicide by a megalomaniac Nelson Follstadt; and my "accident," as he called it, was Nelson's attempt to do the same to me. But there was no point in telling Green how much of the story the official version had left out.

"Amos also had a master's degree in electrical engineering, and he left us an interesting device: a black box that locates telepaths."

"Amos also had a master's degree in electrical engineering, and he left us an interesting device: a black box that locates telepaths."

I gestured to Rob. "We don't know yet," he said. "Most of the electronics are perfectly straightforward, but there are two components that Amos apparently made himself. They're the heart of the finder-and we still don't know how they work."

"Interesting," Green murmured. He looked at me. "May I see them?"

"Sure. The workroom's in the basement; the stairs are around that way."

I let Rob lead the way downstairs, bringing up the rear myself. Green, I noticed with grim amusement, practically walked on Rob's heels in an effort to stay as far away from me as possible.

I'd only lived in the house for about five months, having moved in just after my return from California with the telepath finder, and the basement thus hadn't had nearly enough time to fill up with ordinary homeowners' junk. That was just as well, because with the workbench and electronic gear Rob had brought in the place was already pretty crowded. In the center of the table, wired to an oscilloscope, was a crab-apple-sized lump of metal.

"That's one of them," Rob said, pointing it out. "We've got seven-Amos left us eight but I ruined one getting it open."

Green stepped over to the table and carefully picked up the sphere. "Heavy," he grunted. "What'd you find inside?"

"A couple of commercial IC chips, an inductor coil he apparently wound himself, and some components that unfortunately were connected somehow to the inside of the shell and which I ruined when I cut it open. But we've got lots of data on its characteristics."

Rob pulled over a fat lab notebook and within ten seconds the two of them were embroiled in a technical discussion about six miles over my head. I didn't even bother to try and follow it; I was more interested in learning as much about Green as I reasonably could. Moving to within two or three feet would have given me complete access to both his surface thoughts and a lot of the stuff underneath, but he was keeping me in the corner of his eye, and I didn't want to push him too hard. So instead I kept my distance and worked on picking up the high points of his personality.

He wasn't going to be as easy to get along with as Rob had been; that much was obvious right from the start. Along with his manipulative tendencies, Green had more than his fair share of egotism, ambition, and something I took to be contempt for people he considered inferior to himself. But he seemed smart enough, if the speed at which he assimilated Rob's pages of numbers and graphs was any indication, and Rob at least seemed to think he could be trusted to keep my secret. If he was willing to work for the pittance I could afford to pay, I decided at last, the job was his. His personality I could live with or stay clear of.

After a while Rob ran out of words, and Green turned back to me. "I think I understand," he said. "These kernel things apparently act as antennas for whatever it is you guys broadcast, covering a broad enough spectrum to pick up all of you and plot a resultant. I gather that it works; so what do you need me for?"

"I want you to use those-kernels," I said, adopting his term for Amos's gadgets, "to design and build something entirely different. You'd be working mainly for the challenge of it, though; I can't afford to pay you much."

"I want you to use those-kernels," I said, adopting his term for Amos's gadgets, "to design and build something entirely different. You'd be working mainly for the challenge of it, though; I can't afford to pay you much."

"More or less. Having known Rob for the past four years helped, too. All right. What I want is a device that'll block my telepathic ability."

Green frowned. "You mean like something to make the broadcast directional?"

"No-something to kill it altogether, the way a copper shell around a radio transmitter will absorb the signal."

"But why would you want-" He broke off, having answered his own question with impressive speed and accuracy, even given that my long-distance romance with Colleen was reasonably well known.

"Temporary blocking, I assume?"

"Right." Though there were times I'd wished to be rid of the damn talent permanently. "When do you want to start?"

"I haven't said yet I'd take the job," he said, a bit testily. I hadn't been wrong earlier; he didn't much like having his mind read.

Rob, as usual, saw the humorous side of his friend's reaction and chuckled. Green flashed him an annoyed look, then managed a wry smile. "Right-I don't have to say things like that here, do I? Okay.

How about if I come in Saturday morning-say around eight-thirty?"

"Sounds fine. I'll see you then."

I leaned against the front door for a minute after I let them out, feeling the contacts fade as they walked to the street and Green's car. I knew I should be happy I'd found a replacement for Rob so quickly; it was only a week ago that he'd realized how much preparation his upcoming prelims were going to take. And yet, despite Green's apparent qualifications, there was something about him that made me uneasy.

There'd been something going on beneath the level I could read, something... sinister was far too harsh a word; maybe opportunistic fitted the sense of the feeling better. I probably should insist on a deeper probe into Green's mind before I let him examine Amos's devices further, a part of me realized. But my pragmatic side quickly scotched that idea. As long as he made me a telepathy shield it was a matter of supreme indifference to me what kind of schemes his ambitious little mind might be hatching.

Sighing, I pushed away from the door and headed back to the living room. Patience is a virtue, I told myself firmly. Flopping down on the couch, I put it carefully out of my mind and reached out. Colleen?

I'm here, Dale, her answer came immediately.

We talked for a long time, and the afternoon shadows were cutting sharply across my minuscule lawn by the time we broke contact. Spending time with Colleen invariably improved my mood, and I was sorely tempted to ignore my psychologist's standing order and pretend the latest daymare simply hadn't happened. But reason eventually prevailed. Hauling the vision out of my memory, I went over it with a fine-tooth comb. By the time I finished I was depressed again, a mood I'd had to put up with a lot lately-Nelson had always been the melancholy sort.

Whatever other qualities Green might or might not have possessed, I had to give him full credit for punctuality; he arrived on Saturday at eight-twenty-five sharp. I took him downstairs and spent nearly half an hour showing him where all the equipment and supplies were. He still tended to shy away from close contact with me, but since his personality hadn't changed markedly in the past two days such avoidance was mutually agreeable.

"So what are you going to do first?" I asked when I'd finished the grand tour.

"Double-check some of Rob's numbers," he said, pulling an ancient wave generator over toward the center of the table. "I want to see if flipping polarity on any of the kernel's bias terminals will affect the output the way he said it does."

I pulled a chair over to the far end of the work bench and sat down, resisting the urge to suggest that would be a waste of time. He already thought I was too impatient. "What will that tell you?" I asked instead, trying to sound merely curious.

"It'll tell me if energy is disappearing into the thing-if so, it may be acting as a transmitter instead of a receiver. Your shield might consist of one or more of these things blasting out an interference signal."

"Wouldn't it be easier to absorb the telepathic signals instead?" I suggested. "Then you could use them as receivers, the way they're designed."

"It might be," he said. "But I want to know my possible options before I start."

He returned to his work, his mind filling up with technical thoughts... but even so he couldn't hide the fact that his last statement had been at best a half truth. He had another reason for wanting to do this experiment, a reason I couldn't quite pick up at the distance I was at.

I thought about it for several minutes in silence. Two days ago I'd been willing to let Green do anything he wanted as long as he got me a shield, but now I was having second thoughts. After all, the telepath finder was Amos's final legacy to all the rest of us, and I had a certain amount of responsibility to make sure it wasn't ruined.

I puzzled at the question for a minute, then came to a conclusion. Leaning back against the wall, I sent out a call. Calvin? Are you there, Calvin?

Who's that-Dale? Calvin answered, a bit groggily.

I grimaced; I'd forgotten Saturday was Calvin's only morning to sleep in and that it was only a little after eight Pueblo time. Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'll call back later.

No, that's all right, he assured me. I got to bed at a reasonable hour last night. What's on your mind?

I wondered if Gordy had finished going through all of Amos's things, both at Eureka and at his mountain cabin. Specifically, I wanted to know if he found anything else relating to the telepath finder-notes, schematics; that sort of thing.

Um... you got me. I can call and ask, if you'd like.

Okay. Calvin hesitated. I talked to Colleen yesterday. She said you'd had another daymare.

Yes. It wasn't too bad, though.

Calvin didn't buy that any more than Colleen had. Uh-huh. Any changes in the vision? Content, texture, length-anything?

I sighed. Not really, I admitted, unless you want to count the fact that my doorbell got incorporated into it. Aside from that it was just a straight replaying of Nelson's attempt to kill both of us. And before you try to think up a euphemistic way to ask, yes, I still get some of it from Nelson's point of view.

He was silent for a long moment, but it wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. Among the candle flickers of ordinary humans, we telepaths stand out like carbon-arc searchlights, the strength of our mental broadcast and sensitivity enabling us to communicate over hundreds of miles. But the price for this unique companionship is a heavy one: at anything less than a hundred miles apart the contact is strong enough to be painful, and at a theoretical distance of twenty miles both personalities would disintegrate totally under the strain. Nelson and I had been close to that limit when he finally took a wrong turn and crashed the plane he was chasing me with into a mountain. I'd survived the encounter... but not unscathed. The Dale Ravenhall I'd once been had been bent and altered by the force of the mental collision, changed into something that was part Dale and part Nelson. Permanently? No one knew. But the fact that some of each daymare still came heavily flavored with Nelson's memories was ominously suggestive.

Well, Calvin said at last, it's only been five months, after all. A lot of simpler psychological problems take longer than that to heal.

I snorted. Thanks a whole bunch.

Sorry, he said quickly, and I grimaced. In earlier days he would have recognized that kind of statement as the banter it was. Now, he was bending over backwards to avoid stepping on any toes, real or otherwise. Nelson had been the touchy sort.

It's okay, I reassured him. I know you were trying to be encouraging. Uh... you don't have any plans to travel east in the near future, do you?

I could come over any time. Why?-do you need some close-approach contact?

Not really. I wasn't ready yet to have all my surface thoughts open to another person, good friend or not.

I just thought maybe you'd be willing to stay in Minneapolis or Dubuque or somewhere for a week or two and let Colleen get back to Regina for a while.

That could probably be arranged. Are her friends in Chillicothe getting tired of her company, or is she just homesick?

No to the former; probably to the latter. Not that she'll admit it, of course-she takes her baby-sitting duties seriously.

Uh-huh. Well, look-I'll talk to her and check the location log to make sure I wouldn't be flying in on top of anyone else and then get back to you. Okay?

Sure. Thanks; I really appreciate it. And don't forget to check with Gordy about any other telepath locater stuff.

Right. Talk to you later.

I came out of the contact and glanced around the room, reorienting myself. Everything was as I remembered it... except that Green was gazing sideways at me from the work bench, his expression wary. "It's okay," I assured him. "I'm not going to faint or anything."

"I know," he said. "Who were you talking to?"

"Uh-Calvin Wolfe."

"Pueblo, Colorado; right?"

"Yes." Frowning slightly, I touched his thoughts. What I found surprised me. "You've been reading up on us lately, haven't you?"

Again, there was that little flicker of resentment that seemed to come whenever I demonstrated my telepathic ability on him. "For a couple of days, yeah. I wanted to know what I was getting myself into. It must be nice to be able to talk to someone that far away so easily."

"You can do almost as well by telephone," I told him shortly, "and without the disadvantages we've got."

He shrugged. "Not much of a disadvantage. All you have to do is stay out of each other's way. Big deal."

If I'd been a violent man I probably would've hit him. Instead, I suddenly felt a need to get far away from such stupidity. "I'll be upstairs if you need me," I told him with as much civility as I could manage. Without waiting for a response, I left.

The call I was expecting came about eight hours later, after Green had gone home for the day; and to my mild surprise it was Gordy himself who made it. Gordy, where are you? was my first question.

On a plane somewhere near Billings, Montana, I believe, he said. I'm on my way to Minneapolis; going to be doing some work there for the next couple of weeks.

Such fortuitous timing, I told him. Calvin couldn't get away?

Even eight hundred miles away I could sense his embarrassment. You make it sound like we're all conspiring to put one over on you, he protested. We're your friends, Dale.

Yeah, I know. Feeling like a heel was becoming a full-time job here lately. What's the word on Amos's things?

I've gone through everything from top to bottom and back again. No notes, no plans, no schematics, no extra equipment other than what you've already got. Either he deliberately destroyed all the documentation or the design of the finder was so obvious to him that he could just sit down and cobble one together. Sorry.

My telepath shield, for example?

Gordy broke into my musings. Look, Dale, don't you think it's about time, you let the rest of us in on what you're doing with all that stuff?

My first impulse was to tell him that they'd find out when I was good and ready and not a solitary second sooner. But that was clearly Nelson talking. I don't know, I said instead. I'm trying to make something new out of the things Amos developed for his finder. If it works-well, it'll benefit all of us. Let's leave it at that for now.

Gordy was silent for a long moment. You know, Dale, it's possible to play these things too close to the chest. If we'd known that Amos had caught Nelson making quiet trips to Las Vegas we might have implicated him in Amos's death before he had the chance to try to kill you. You could be running the same kind of risk here.

I'm being careful, I told him stubbornly. My doubts about Green rose unbidden before my eyes; ruthlessly, I crushed them down. I just don't want to raise any false hopes, that's all.

All right, he said after another pause. But be careful, okay?

Sure. Enjoy your flight, and I'll talk to you later.

Yeah. Take care.

I sat where I was for a long time afterwards, my book lying ignored on my lap. Once again I felt torn between my natural desire for caution and my almost suffocating urgency to possess a telepath shield.

Colleen was practically within my grasp-how could I permit anything to get in the way of that? Besides, what earthly use would a telepath shield-or anything else Green could make in my basement-be to a normal person? A defense against the highly unlikely possibility of one of us eavesdropping on a private conversation? Ridiculous, when thirty feet of distance would achieve the same end. No-I had to be reading Green wrong... and I didn't need to be reminded that Nelson had had a strong touch of paranoia.

Nevertheless, that evening I went out and bought a burglar alarm, and by the time I went to bed I had it rigged so that anyone entering or leaving my basement would trigger a light and quiet buzzer in my second-floor study. Now, whenever Green tried to leave I would know in time to get within telepathy range of him before he got out of the house. A rather simple precaution, to be sure-but then, I wasn't really expecting any trouble.

The days lengthened into weeks, as days have a way of doing, and progress on the shield remained depressingly slow. Green's idea about reversing the biases hadn't panned out, and he'd been forced to seek out new approaches. Fortunately, he didn't get discouraged as easily as I might have, his failures merely spurring him to stronger efforts. He began to spend more and more time at my house, sometimes arriving while I was still eating dinner and not leaving until after midnight. What made his single-mindedness all the more astonishing was the fact that he still felt acutely uncomfortable around me, avoiding close contact and sometimes even going so far as to fill his mind with technical thoughts to try to forget I was within range. Apparently he was simply the type who enjoyed a challenge for its own sake.

What with all this companionship therapy taking up a lot of my attention, it was early October before I finally noticed something was off-kilter.

It began with an afternoon call from Rob Peterson, who was trying to get hold of Green and thought he might be with me. During the course of the conversation I discovered Green hadn't shown up at any of his classes for nearly a month, a figure that coincided uncomfortably well with the first of his six-to-midnight sessions in my basement. When I asked him about it later, Green admitted he'd been neglecting his schoolwork, but claimed he'd be able to catch up once he finished my shield. As usual, he stayed right at the edge of my range, so I wasn't able to confirm that he was telling the truth; and not wanting a scene I let him go back to work without further cross-examination. I soothed my conscience by reminding myself that he was a grown man, perfectly capable of deciding how to use his time.

But the whole thing seemed funny somehow-I couldn't reconcile this sudden neglect of his studies with the ambitious and calculating personality I'd already glimpsed in him. It bothered me; and gradually I began staying on the first floor whenever Green was in the house, where I could pick up his surface thoughts as he worked in the basement. He knew, of course-my footsteps would have been audible above him-and I could sense an almost frantic note in his attempts to cram his thoughts with technical details of his work. But enough got through. More than enough...

I waited until I was sure, and then I confronted him with it.

"You've had it for two weeks now, haven't you?" I said, anger struggling for supremacy with other emotions I was afraid to accept. "You know how to make a telepath shield."

"I don't know if I do," he protested. Hunched over the workbench, a soldering iron still gripped in his hand, he watched me with slightly narrowed eyes, as a rabbit might a fox. "I've never tested it."

Hairsplitting; but it was a genuine lack of certainty, and that had been enough to fool me for nearly a week. Belatedly, I wondered if perhaps I'd gotten the rabbit and fox roles reversed. "Well, let's not waste any more time. Turn it on."

"All right." Standing up, he went to the far end of the bench. A bulky, three-level breadboard assembly rested there, built into a framework that looked like it'd been made out of leftover angle iron. Three of Amos's kernels glittered among the tangle of electronic components. Plugging the device's cord into an outlet, Green flipped a switch and vanished.

It took a fraction of a second for my eyes to register the fact that Green was, in fact, still standing there in front of me, that it was only his mind that had disappeared from my perception. I must have looked as flabbergasted as I felt, because Green's lip twitched in a smile of sorts. "Like it?" he asked.

"I-yes," I managed. "How does it work?"

"I told you that was the approach to take," I said, feeling a little light-headed. "Will it block other telepaths, too? We project a lot more strongly than you do."

He shrugged. "Try calling someone."

I did; and because I was afraid of false hopes I tried for a solid three minutes. But at the end of that time I was convinced. Colleen... With an effort I dragged my mind back to Earth. One more important question still needed an answer. "All right. Now tell me what you've been doing these past two weeks, while you were supposedly working on the shield."

He radiated innocence. "I have been working on it-I've been trying to make a more practical model." He indicated the breadboards. "You see, this one is big and heavy, with an effective range of probably no more than a hundred feet, and it requires one-twenty line current. I think I can make one that would run off a battery and have almost half a mile of range-and the whole thing fitting inside a briefcase.

Another-oh, month or so-and I should have it."

It was a good idea, intellectually, I had to admit that. But all of my hopes and dreams had suddenly become reality and I knew I didn't have the patience to wait another day, let alone an entire month.

"Thanks, but no. This one will do fine."

He blinked, and I got the impression that my answer had surprised him. "But... I'm not finished here, Mr.

Ravenhall. I mean, I promised to build you a practical telepath shield. This thing's hardly practical."

"It's practical enough for me," I said, frowning. Goosebumps were beginning to form on my suspicions-he had no business fighting that hard for a two-dollar-an-hour job. "Before we continue, what say we make things more interesting and turn off the shield?"

He made no effort to reach for the switch. "That's not necessary," he sighed. "I was bending the truth a little. I've already been trying to design an entirely different gadget using those kernels, and I was afraid you'd send me away permanently once I'd finished the shield."

"What sort of gadget?"

"A mechanical mind reader."

"A what?"

"Well, why not? The kernels clearly pick up telepathic signals. Why shouldn't the signals be interpretable, by a small computer, say?"

I opened my mouth, closed it again as the potential repercussions of such a gadget echoed like heavy thunder through my mind. By necessity, each of us who'd had this gift/burden dropped on us had long ago thought out the consequences of misusing our power. The potential for blackmail, espionage of all kinds, or just simple invasion of privacy-I was personally convinced it was only our extremely limited number and the fact that we were thus easy to keep track of that had kept us from being locked up or killed outright. A mechanical device, presumably infinitely reproducible, would open up that entire can of worms, permanently. "Forget it," I said, finding my voice at last. "Thanks for the shield; I'll give you your final pay before you leave." I turned to go back upstairs.

killed outright. A mechanical device, presumably infinitely reproducible, would open up that entire can of worms, permanently. "Forget it," I said, finding my voice at last. "Thanks for the shield; I'll give you your final pay before you leave." I turned to go back upstairs.

"A gold mine for whom? You and a select clientele of professional spies?"

"It doesn't have to be that way," he protested. "Psychologists, for instance-mind readers would be a tremendous help in their work. Rescue teams could locate survivors in earthquakes or collapsed buildings. Doctors-"

"What about bank robbers? Or terrorists? Or even nosy neighbors?" I shook my head. "What am I arguing for? The subject is closed."

Green expelled his breath in a long, hissing sigh, and his expression seemed to harden in some undefinable way. "I'll have to collect my tools," he said stiffly.

I hesitated, then nodded. "All right. I'll be upstairs writing your check."

I didn't head up right away, though, but crossed instead to the dim corner where the fusebox was. The telepath shield I'd coveted for so long had abruptly become something that could be used against me, and I had no intention of letting Green leave here under its protection-I wanted to know whether he'd really given up or had something else up his sleeve. One of the peculiarities of this house was that the basement lights were all on one circuit and the outlets on another. Finding the proper fuse I pulled it... and across the basement, just barely within range, I felt Green's thoughts reappear. Simultaneously, drowning out that faint voice, came a frantic duet.

Dale! Are you there, Dale; can you answer?

Here I am, I said hastily. What's all the fuss?

Oh, thank heaven. Colleen's thoughts were shaking with emotion. We thought something terrible had happened. Calvin and I have been trying to contact you for nearly five minutes.

Another daymare? Calvin asked, trying to sound calmer than he really was. I didn't blame him; a daymare that had lasted that long would have been a real doozy.

No; this was something good for a change. I told them about the telepath shield, trying to recapture my earlier enthusiasm for the device. But that glimpse into Green's ambitions had dampened things considerably, and I was barely able to keep my report on the positive side of neutral.

Calvin, at least, saw the potential hazards immediately. Do you think it's wise to let this Green character run around loose? he asked when I'd finished. If he can make a telepath shield who knows what else he can do?

There shouldn't be any problem, I assured him. Amos's special gadgets are the key, and he doesn't know how to make them. I'm sure of that, but I'll double-check before I let him leave.

I don't know, Colleen mused. I don't trust him. He sounded-oh, too ambitious, I suppose.

My own thoughts skidded to a halt. Wait a second. When did you talk to him?

I frowned... and at that exact instant both Colleen and Calvin vanished from my mind.

It was so unexpected that I wasted a good ten seconds trying to reestablish contact before I noticed that the faint touch of Green's thoughts was also gone and finally realized what was happening. I spun around, but too late: Green's legs were just disappearing up the stairwell. Clutched in one hand was something that looked like a small briefcase.

With a shout, I went after him. But his lead was too big, and by the time I ran out my front door he was already diving into the front seat of his car. With a squeal of tires he took off into the night. Seconds later I was tearing down the street behind him, gunning my old Chevy for all it was worth.

And the chase was on.

At first I thought it would be over quickly. I caught up to him with almost ridiculous ease, as if his car was in even worse shape than mine. But as we cleared the edge of town his lead began to open up slowly, and by the time he turned south on I-35 he was staying a comfortable quarter-mile ahead of me.

For me the drive was like an inside-out version of that horrible race through the California mountains. The road here was flat, and I was the pursuer instead of the pursued; but the same sense of terrified urgency was wrapped suffocatingly around me. Clearly, Green had lied about the portable shield-and I, the great telepath Dale Ravenhall, so caught up in my own selfish desires, had let him get by with it. Bitterly, I wondered what else he'd lied about... and whether I'd ever get a chance to warn the others. His strategy seemed clear: by forcing me into a chase like the one in California he was trying to trigger a daymare, one that would undoubtedly be fatal even given the sparse traffic and relatively straight road. And with the shield going full blast in Green's car it would be a very lonely death. More than once I tried to drift back out of range, hoping to at least let Colleen or Calvin know what had happened; but each time Green spotted the maneuver and matched it. I wondered what he would do if I stopped completely, to either call Colleen or phone the police. But I didn't dare try it. If I let him out of my sight I knew I'd never see the shield or the rest of Amos's kernels again. Grimly, concentrating on Green's taillights, I fought down the panic bubbling in my throat and kept going.

I don't know how long the chase lasted; my mind was too busy damning my shortsighted stupidity and fighting off potential daymares to think about time. Green got off the interstate at Osceola, heading east on 34. He didn't stay on the road long, though, turning south again on 65. Twenty-odd miles later he picked up a county road heading west, and from that point on I was thoroughly lost. I dimly remember that we were on some road labeled B when we crossed over into Missouri, but all the rest were just anonymous two- and four-lane roads, passing through or near sleeping towns with names like Wooodland, Davis City, Saline, and Modena.

And finally, sometime in the small hours of the morning, Green pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

I pulled up behind him, feeling a cold sense of satisfaction. He hadn't given me a daymare and hadn't lost me among the country roads of two states, and had now bowed to the inevitable. He was outside the car now, the briefcase he'd taken from my house held across his chest like a shield. I got out, too, and walked toward him, watching for concealed weapons. "All right, Green, it's all over," I told him. "Let's have the shield and whatever else you stole." walked toward him, watching for concealed weapons. "All right, Green, it's all over," I told him. "Let's have the shield and whatever else you stole."

Frowning, I glanced over his shoulder. Highway 65 was cutting across the landscape directly ahead; a dimly lit sign along its side announced eleven miles to Chillicothe.

Chillicothe?

I felt the blood draining from my face as I refocused on Green. "Yes," he nodded. "She's within the twenty-mile limit. If I flip this switch you'll both be dead instantly."

The big toggle switch sticking out of the briefcase looked the size of a baseball bat under his hand. There was no way for him to miss it if I jumped him... and looking at his eyes I knew he was half expecting me to try just that. "All right, let's both relax, I suggested through stiff lips. "What do you want?"

"For starters, I want you and Colleen Isaac together. There's no point taking both cars; we'll go in mine. I hope you know where she's staying-all I've got is her phone number. You'll drive, of course."

"Of course," I said mechanically. Colleen, I thought. What have I done?

There was no answer.

She was waiting outside her motel room door when we pulled up, her expression drawn but controlled. I got out of the car and walked up to her. For a moment we gazed into each other's eyes. Then, almost of their own volition, our hands sought each other and gripped tightly... and a moment later she was in my arms. "It's all right," I whispered to her, trying to project confidence I didn't feel, and to hide the disappointment that-despite the danger we were in-I did feel. I'd had such romantic dreams about this moment, dreams that would now be forever poisoned in my memory.

Behind us, Green cleared his throat. "We'd better get moving," he said, sounding almost apologetic.

"Both of you in the front seat, please."

"Just a second," I objected, turning halfway around but keeping one arm around Colleen. "Doesn't she at least get to bring a change of clothes?"

"She didn't seem surprised to see us," he countered. "That means she was expecting us. The police may be on their way right now."

"I wasn't expecting you." Colleen's voice was slightly higher-pitched then I'd expected it to be and had a slight accent. But it was steady enough. "We assumed you were using your telepath shield to stop Dale from talking with us, But I didn't suspect you were here until I was also cut off a minute before you arrived. I didn't call the police."

"But one of your friends might have," Green growled, showing signs of agitation. "Grab your purse and let's go!"

He didn't relax again until we were five miles out of Chillicothe, heading east on 36. I held Colleen's hand as I drove, though whether for her comfort or my own I wasn't entirely sure. Strangely enough, she seemed the calmest of all of us, and was the one who finally broke the brittle silence. "You know, Ted, this really can't gain you anything," she said, turning her head to the side so that Green could hear her. "By now every telepath on the continent knows about you and your machine." seemed the calmest of all of us, and was the one who finally broke the brittle silence. "You know, Ted, this really can't gain you anything," she said, turning her head to the side so that Green could hear her. "By now every telepath on the continent knows about you and your machine."

"What is it you want?"

"An electronic telepath," I told her. "And he apparently wants us to sit around and watch him make one."

"I wish it were that easy," Green said. "But it's not. I figure I'll need at least ten kernels to make it, and even then it'll only be a one-way mind reading device-I can't get the damn kernels to transmit anything to speak of."

In spite of the danger, I felt a wolfish smile crease my face. "Ten kernels, huh? And you've only got four left-you left three in the shield in my basement. So you're licked even before you start."

"No!" His exclamation was so unexpected I jumped, nearly swerving out of my lane. "I can figure it out-could have figured it out. But you weren't going to let me." He paused, and in the mirror I could see him fighting for self-control... and it was then that I suddenly realized he was as scared as I was. He'd clearly been spinning some high-flying hopes for this particular rainbow, and my adamant opposition had apparently goaded him into an act of desperation that he wasn't really ready for. Now, he was beginning to see just how deep the hole was he was digging himself into.

Colleen must have sensed that, too. "Ted, you don't have to do this," she said. "Let Dale take me back to my motel and then leave him with the shield, and it'll be over. There won't be any charges or other repercussions, I promise."

"What about my mind reader?"

Colleen hesitated. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we can't permit Amos's invention to be used in that way."

"Then forget it."

"Green-" I began.

"Shut up," he said. "I have to think."

His ruminations took the better part of an hour, during which time he had me change roads twice. I kept my eye on him in the mirror, hoping he would fall asleep. But he remained almost preternarurally alert the whole time.

Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion. "Ravenhall, 63 ought to be coming up pretty soon," he said.

"Take it norm."

"Where are you taking us?" Colleen asked.

"Back to Iowa. I know a little resort near Rathbun Lake where you can rent cabins. We can stay there for a while."

"Taking us across a state line is a federal offense," I pointed out to him.

I didn't bother to reply.

What with the circuitous route Green made me drive we didn't arrive at the resort until after eight in the morning. My secret hope, that the place might be closed until spring, was quickly dashed; either the warmest October in thirty years had induced them to stay open past their usual closing date or else they catered to the kind of hikers and fishermen who ignore the weather anyway. Green left us alone in the car while he went in the office to register. I tried to think of a plan-any plan-while he was gone. But it was no use. I'd been driving all night, much of it at the edge of nervous prostration, and my mind was simply too fatigued to function. Even as I drove up the gravel road to our cabin I felt my consciousness beginning to waver, and I just barely remember staggering through the front door with Colleen holding tightly onto my arm. Somehow, I assume, she got me to the bed.

I came up out of the darkness slowly and unwillingly, glad to escape the nightmares that had harassed my sleep out dimly aware that something worse was waiting for me in the real world. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, and even before Colleen spoke it had all come back.

"How are you feeling?"

I turned my head. She was sitting in a chair next to the bed, light from the window behind her filtering through her hair in a half halo effect. "Groggy," I told her. "How long did I sleep?"

"Almost ten hours. I didn't see any point in waking you."

I looked at my watch. Six-oh-five. My stomach growled a reminder that I'd missed a couple of meals.

"Did you sleep at all? And where's Green?

"Yes, I took a couple of short naps. Your friend's out in the living room."

"He's no friend of mine." I turned my head the other way and realized for the first time that the cabin wasn't the simple one-room design I'd expected. Colleen and I were in a small bedroom that took up maybe a third of the cabin's total floor space. The door that sat between us and Green looked solid enough, but it opened inward and had no lock that I could see. I wondered how Green thought he could keep us in here.

"Don't try the door," Colleen said, as if she'd somehow penetrated the shield and had heard my unspoken question. "He has the switch on his telepath shield fastened to it with a piece of string. He sealed the window, too."

I hesitated halfway through the act of rolling out of bed, then continued the motion and got to my feet.

Walking around the end of the bed, I went to the window behind Colleen. He'd sealed it, all right; a dozen nails and screws had been driven through the wooden sash and into the frame.

Behind me Colleen's chair creaked, and a moment later her hand tentatively touched my arm. "Dale...

what does he want with us?"

There was no point studying the window any further; it was clear that without a screwdriver and claw hammer I would never get the thing open. Turning around, I faced Colleen, taking her hands in mine.

"You heard him-he wants a mechanical mind reader. I gather he thinks we can help him make one." hammer I would never get the thing open. Turning around, I faced Colleen, taking her hands in mine.

"You heard him-he wants a mechanical mind reader. I gather he thinks we can help him make one."

I shook my head. "I don't know." It was odd, a disconnected part of my brain thought, how small a part of its target a camera could really capture. I had hundreds of photos and videotapes of Colleen, but not a single one of them had done her justice. Even tired, hungry, and with a horrible death crouching like a leopard over her shoulder, there was a vivaciousness about her that the films had never really showed. I'd known her energetic joy of life through her thoughts, of course; but to see it reflected in her face was an entirely new and delightful experience. If we died now, I would have had at least that much.

If we died now. The thought short-circuited my rising romantic mood and brought me back to Earth.

There were a dozen questions that urgently needed answering. Giving Colleen's hands a squeeze, I let go and walked back around to the door. "Green?" I called through the panel. "You awake out there?"

"Come on out," was the immediate response. "The door's safe to use."

I opened it and stepped into the main part of the cabin, noting in passing that Green's booby-trap string was not tied to the doorknob but to another nail driven into the door at knee level. Green was sitting on a small couch across the room, a glowing lamp at his shoulder. On his lap, the switch close to hand, was the telepath shield.

"I thought you weren't ever going to wake up," Green commented. "There're some hamburgers in the sack on the table-you can heat them up in that one-quart oven over there. Cokes are in the fridge."

I was too hungry to bother with the oven. Colleen, with a lower tolerance for American fast food, took her burgers and headed for the cabin's tiny kitchen. Green waited until we were settled at the table before speaking again. "I've been making a list of the equipment I figure I'm going to need," he told us, holding up a piece of paper clearly torn from a second hamburger bag. "I figure that with a small x-ray machine I can figure out how everything is put together inside one of these kernels. If not, there are a couple of other things I can try. A good computer would be helpful in designing the mind reader's circuitry, and since I'll probably need one anyway to interpret the telepathic signals we might as well get that, too."

"Just where do you expect to get the money for all of this?" I asked around a mouthful of food. "If you're expecting the rest of the telepathic community to fork it over, you can forget it. None of us has the resources you're talking about."

"You fly all over the country whenever you want to, don't you?" he scoffed. "That isn't exactly cheap."

"Most of us have small stipends from universities that are studying us," Colleen explained to him. "The amounts aren't nearly enough to supply you with x-ray machines and computers, though."

Green's mouth twitched. "Well... then I guess you'll have to earn the money some other way."

"Such as?" I asked. Most businesses, I've found, aren't all that enthusiastic about having telepaths on the payroll.

"I suppose industrial espionage would be the most profitable," he said, watching me closely.

If he was looking for a reaction, he wasn't disappointed. Some breadcrumbs, tried to go down the wrong way, and it took me half a minute to cough them out. "Forget it," I snarled when I could talk again. "If you think we're going to do that-" way, and it took me half a minute to cough them out. "Forget it," I snarled when I could talk again. "If you think we're going to do that-"

"Then you'll have to hit key employees at off hours," Green said stubbornly. "Or else wear disguises. I need that equipment-don't you understand?"

"And what about us?" Colleen asked. "Don't you see what involving us in crime would do to the trust we've built up between ourselves and the general populace? We can't survive without that good will, Ted."

"I'm sorry. I really am. But it's not my fault." He shifted his gaze to me, where it became more of a glare.

"If he hadn't been all noble and virtuous and had let me keep going, none of this would have happened."

"Oh, sure-blame it on me," I growled. "Why not blame your parents, society, and the planet Jupiter while you're at it?"

He ignored me. "I want to know how to contact Calvin Wolfe-I know he's a friend of yours and his Pueblo phone's unlisted. I also want something I can say to him that'll prove you two are with me."

My mind raced. Was there some way I could slip in a clue as to where we were? Rathbun, reservoir, lake-I couldn't think of any way to code any of those words so that Green would miss it. I'd never been here before, so referring to a past visit was out. Distance from Des Moines? I hadn't the foggiest idea. I was still trying to come up with something when Colleen gave him Calvin's number and unconsciously undercut my effort. "Just give him your name," she told Green. "He knows who you are."

"Okay." He stood up and gestured toward the door. "We'll have to find a phone booth to make the call from; I don't want anyone tracing us here."

It was an hour before we got back to the cabin, Green having taken us halfway to Ottumwa to get the distance he wanted. We were left in the car while he made the call, and he wouldn't tell us anything about it afterward except that Calvin had agreed to take up the matter with the rest of our group.

"Do you think that's the truth?" Colleen asked me when we were locked again in the relative privacy of our room.

"Probably," I told her. Outside the window the evening had faded into night, and the lights from two or three other cabins could be dimly seen through the trees. Too far away to see a signal, even if I could think of some way to send one without tipping off Green. "Calvin would agree to anything at this stage to gain time." Pulling the shade, I turned on the light and sat down on the bed next to Colleen. The light switch had gone on with a loud click; no quiet SOS possible with that. "I just hope we don't get some gung-ho SWAT team bursting in with M-16s blazing."

"I doubt if there's any danger of that," she sighed. "We'd already decided to keep the authorities out of this when the shield cut me off."

I nodded; I'd rather hoped they'd seen things that way. At the moment no one but us knew it was even possible to build an electronic mind reader. If the word ever got out, chances were someone would eventually figure out how to do it. "Good. I guess. Anything else happen while I was out of touch?"

"Yeah. How do you test a telepath shield?"

"Obviously, with a telepath. Gordon was going to catch the next plane to Des Moines, and Scott will most likely come up from New Orleans now that I've also disappeared. He was anxious to get involved and has always rather liked me." She opened her eyes briefly. "Something I just thought of: could Robert modify Amos's telepath finder to locate a lack of telepathic signals?"

"Like this shield?" I shrugged. "I don't know, but I doubt it. We had to take apart the finder to get parts for the shields; Rob would have to rebuild as well as redesign it. And, anyway, he hadn't gotten much into design work when Green took over." A fresh wave of shame and anger washed over me. "I should've waited until Rob was available again," I muttered.

Colleen was silent for so long I began to think she'd fallen asleep. Turning off the light I lay down beside her, hating both Green and myself and wondering if I was tired enough to escape into sleep myself for a few hours. Then Colleen stirred. "Dale... why did you do it?"

It took me a moment to understand what she was asking. "For us," I told her. "I wanted to be able to see and hold you, to share more than just my thoughts with you. I-when I say it like that it sounds pretty selfish, doesn't it?"

"A little," she admitted. "More like Nelson Follstadt than Dale Ravenhall."

I sighed, closing my eyes in an effort to block the sudden tears forming there. Nelson again-always it was Nelson. Was I never going to be free of him? Or were my motivations and judgment going to be forever skewed by what he'd done to me in the California mountains? It was like carrying my own personal ghost along with me, someone to fowl up everything I did, someone- Someone to blame.

The thought leaped out at me with almost physical force. Was I using my psychological injury as a scapegoat, a convenient excuse whenever anything went wrong? I didn't really believe it-certainly didn't want to believe it. But the possibility was there... and blaming other people had been one of Nelson's most annoying traits.

And I'd just argued myself in a circle. I never argued in circles. Or, rather, Dale Ravenhall never had....

Colleen's arm slid over my chest, breaking through the spiral of fear and self-pity. "It's all right, Dale," she said soothingly. "We'll get out of this somehow."

For a long time she held me tightly, as if comforting a child. Gradually, my black depression began to lighten; and as it did so my need for her changed, both in nature and urgency. Her response, whether from love, fear, or a combination of both, was so strong it surprised me... but within seconds surprise and all other emotions were crowded out by the passion exploding within me.

I stared at the shadows of tree branches swaying across the window shade for at least an hour after that, tired but not really sleepy. With time, I knew, I could learn to be a better lover to her-but time was the least certain commodity in our world just now. I wondered how long it would take Green to get the money and equipment he wanted... and I wondered how long the batteries powering the shield would last. Eventually, I fell asleep.

We both woke fairly early the next morning. That turned out to be a mistake, because the day quickly became one long study in boredom. Green had slipped out before we woke and had brought back donuts and coffee and the necessary ingredients for sandwiches. That last was a disappointment; I'd hoped for the chance to break the window and escape when he left to buy lunch. But as usual, he was one move ahead of me.

To his credit, he also brought back a couple of decks of cards and three paperbacks of the sort found on grocery store book racks. But neither Colleen nor I were great shakes as card players; and I, at least, was too wrapped up in my own real troubles to have any patience with someone else's fictional ones.

Besides, the covers of the books strongly suggested they contained a fair amount of sex and/or romance, and after the fiasco of the previous night I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that.

So instead of reading I spent some time going over our room, searching for something I could use as a tool or weapon. It was a small room, though, and it wasn't even eleven o'clock before I gave up.

Mostly, Colleen and I talked.

There wasn't much about each other we didn't already know, of course; but good friends can always find something interesting to talk about. We discussed world topics, history-one of Colleen's pet interests-and our fellow telepaths, and reminisced a good deal about the five years we'd known each other. By a kind of unspoken agreement we avoided talking about our current situation, but the very fact we were using spoken words at all was a continual reminder of what was happening. I could feel a tenseness in Colleen's body as we lay side by side on the bed, and my own attempts at conversation were blunted by my preoccupation with the problem of finding a way out of this mess I'd created. The damnable thing about it was that, barring some slip on Green's part, I couldn't think of a single way either to escape or to get the telepath shield away from him. And the more I thought about it the more I realized that we didn't even have the threat of official retribution to hold over his head if he flipped that switch-he could probably claim that I'd been so delighted with my new shield that I'd set up this little informal honeymoon trip with Colleen and that I'd dragged him along to take care of the electronics, which had unfortunately failed.

With us gone it would basically be his word against Calvin's, and if Green had been smart he wouldn't have said anything to Calvin that actually involved the words ransom or blackmail. The bad thing about such a scenario was that, once he had what he wanted, Green might feel he had to kill us to maintain the charade.

Nelson had tried once to kill me. Now, it seemed, his ghost had given itself a second chance. I only wished Colleen hadn't been the means it had chosen-but, then again, her inclusion might have been deliberate. Nelson had hated all of us.

Nelson had tried once to kill me. Now, it seemed, his ghost had given itself a second chance. I only wished Colleen hadn't been the means it had chosen-but, then again, her inclusion might have been deliberate. Nelson had hated all of us.

Evening came, and Green again was too smart to leave us alone while he went for food. Apparently he'd become convinced that the police really hadn't been called in, and so he piled us into the car and we went out to a restaurant together. His new-found confidence went only so far, of course; the place he chose was a dark, intimate one with high-backed booths, where our chances of being recognized by anyone were minimal.

I'd expected dinner to be a strained affair; but while it was so for me the others seemed surprisingly relaxed. Colleen kept Green talking, both about himself and his ambitions. If I'd paid closer attention to the conversation I might have learned why succeeding with his mind reader project was so important to him. But my full attention was on the briefcase sitting upright on the seat next to him, and on the arm resting casually on top of it. Even when cutting his steak his left hand never moved far enough away from the switch for me to risk any action. I hardly tasted my own food, and felt almost resentful that Colleen so obviously enjoyed the expensive filet mignon she'd ordered.

The ride back to the cabin was quiet. Colleen huddled close to me the whole time, her hand stroking my thigh in a way more suggestive of fear and loneliness than of passion. Her friendly chatter in the restaurant, I guessed, must have been an act to put Green at ease, and now that I'd been unable to take advantage of the trick an emotional letdown was setting in. I wished that I hadn't been so quick to shoot down her suggestion that Rob might be able to gimmick together a telepath shield locater; at least that would have left her some small hope to cling to.

I parked out front as usual and we went into the cabin, Green with his damn briefcase keeping well back.

Colleen turned on the light and we headed toward the bedroom; but as Green closed the cabin door behind us she touched my arm and stopped, turning to face him.

"Well, go on in," Green said, as I followed Colleen's lead and turned around. Green had stopped just inside the door, his expression more puzzled than wary. Not that he needed to worry; we were a good fifteen feet away from him, and even with the shield hanging loosely in his hand we both knew I couldn't possibly get to the switch before he did.

But Colleen didn't move. "No," she said calmly. "We can't let you continue with your plans, Ted. An electronic mind reader would bring chaos upon a world that already is sorely lacking in privacy-surely you recognize that. Do you care so little about other people that you would do something like this to them?"

"Oh, come on," he growled, clearly not in the mood for an argument. "You're blowing this way out of proportion. Only the wealthy and powerful are going to be able to afford mind readers-and they're only going to use them on each other. Besides, once I've sold enough mind readers I'll be marketing these telepath shields anyway. You'll have the status quo back before you know it."

I stared at him-the man was even more cold-bloodedly mercenary than I'd realized.

Colleen shook her head slowly, and for the first time I noticed her face was unnaturally pale. "No. We can't allow it."

Colleen shook her head slowly, and for the first time I noticed her face was unnaturally pale. "No. We can't allow it."

"Yes, I can." Colleen paused, and I heard the faint sound of tires on gravel outside as one of the other campers returned for the evening... and without warning Colleen screamed.

It was a piercing, mind-curdling scream, so loud and so unexpected that for a second it literally locked my muscles in place. Across the room Green jerked violently, nearly dropping the briefcase; but before either of us could do anything more the scream cut off as abruptly as it had begun- And Colleen was holding a knife hara-kiri fashion to her stomach.

For just an instant there was a deathly stillness in the room. I don't know how Green looked in that first second; my full disbelieving attention was riveted on Colleen. The knife, still greasy from the steak she'd been cutting with it half an hour previously, glinted with a horrible light from between her hands. Her eyes seemed black in contrast as they stared unblinkingly at Green.

"The game's over, one way or another," she said, her words sort and rapid, but with an iron cast to them.

"You will set down that case and step away from it, or I will kill myself. I expect you understand."

With an effort I shifted my gaze to Green. He understood, all right; his face had gone a pasty white. If Colleen died before he could hit the switch his power over me would be gone... and I would kill him. "It won't work," he half croaked, half whispered. "You can't die fast enough. Your brain will live too long."

"Perhaps." Colleen's voice was still glacially calm. "But many people will have heard my scream, and some of them could be coming in the door at any time. You won't be able to pass our deaths off as strokes or heart attacks, not with a knife in me. And even if you manage to get away, you've left fingerprints all over this room." Outside, a car door slammed. "Here they come," Colleen said. "Decide, Ted. Now."

Green growled something deep in his throat, but I hardly heard him. Nausea was trying to turn my stomach inside out, and I fought desperately against the white spots forming before my eyes. But it was no use. The parallel was too close: Amos, too, had died of a self-inflicted knife wound in defense of someone else. The scene in front of me shimmered and faded... and the daymare began.

Amos, you're coming too close; it's beginning to hurt.

I can't stop, Nelson. My plane's been hijacked.

You have to stop. You have to! It hurts, it hurts.

You're going to let her die, aren't you, Dale? She's going to die, just like Amos did.

No! I shouted, and even as I stood in the middle of it I felt the vision quiver. This wasn't the usual pattern... and with sudden clarity I saw that Nelson's death-wish within me had overreached itself. These were Nelson's memories, not mine, given to me in distorted form during our close approach five months ago. They had no basis of reality in my own mind to draw strength from. Illusions only... and with all the force I could gather I hit them with the strongest reality I had.

I AM DALE RAVENHALL! I screamed to Nelson's ghost.

I'd apparently been gone only a second or two, because the tableau was just as I'd left it. Running footsteps were audible outside, and Green half turned toward the door, his face contorted with indecision. His hand twitched-and I moved.

With my left hand I slapped Colleen's right elbow forward, knocking the knife point away from her body, and with my right I plucked the weapon from her loosened grip. Green looked back at the motion-and with a yelp ducked as I hurled the knife toward him with all my strength.

It bounced butt-end first off his shoulder, throwing him off-balance for a second. But it wasn't enough, and I wasn't more than a third of the way to him when his scrambling hand got to the switch. He froze for a single heartbeat, panic etched across his white face... and then he flipped it.

And nothing happened.

My charge ground to a halt as confusion slowed my muscles. The agony I'd expected-the red haze of pain as two minds crashed together-it simply wasn't there. I looked around, half afraid I was the only one unaffected, that I would see Colleen stretched on the floor in death; but she, too, merely looked bewildered. I turned back to Green, and as I did so the footsteps outside ceased and the door was unceremoniously slammed open. Two men charged in: Rob Peterson and a big blond man I'd never seen before... or rather, never seen except in photos.

"Are you two all right?" Gordy asked anxiously, looking back and forth between Colleen and me.

And finally I understood.

"It was plain dumb luck that we spotted you leaving that restaurant back in Moravia, or whatever that town was named," Gordy said, shaking his head. "We'd figured you to be a good five miles farther west, and when we cut through the edge of your shield I thought you'd passed us, heading for points unknown, and that we were going to have to start all over again. It's a good thing Rob recognized Green's car."

I nodded, feeling the tension drain slowly out through my arms as I held Colleen tightly to my side, and let my gaze wander. Green was sitting on the ground by Gordy's rented van; in the dim light streaming from the cabin's windows he looked like someone who'd just been condemned to purgatory. Rob, sitting cross-legged inside the van to take maximum advantage of the dome light, was doing a quick check of the wiring in Green's stolen telepath shield and fitting it with fresh batteries. And behind him, tied down securely in the van's cargo area, was the bulky shield Green had first demonstrated for me down in my basement. Chugging quietly beside it was the gasoline generator that supplied its power.

"Only two days," Colleen murmured. "It seemed much longer, somehow."

"To us, too," Gordy agreed. "If I never see another field of corn stubble I'll be perfectly happy."

I sighed. "Okay, I give up. You didn't just quarter the whole state until you found us, and I don't see anything that could possibly be a telepath shield locater in here. So how'd you do it?"

"With the best locaters you could possibly use for the job: two telepaths." Gordy glanced down at Green with what looked like rather cold satisfaction. "Green here made the mistake of telling Calvin that his gadget had a half-mile range, and once I got to Des Moines a little experimentation with the model he'd left behind showed us that the shield absorbs all telepathic signals trying to pass through it, whether or not the sender is actually within the field. By then Scott was in Chillicothe, so we had him stay put while Rob and I drove a hundred-mile-radius circle around him. We were just lucky that you'd gone to ground inside that range-we would have had to start all over again with a new circle otherwise." with what looked like rather cold satisfaction. "Green here made the mistake of telling Calvin that his gadget had a half-mile range, and once I got to Des Moines a little experimentation with the model he'd left behind showed us that the shield absorbs all telepathic signals trying to pass through it, whether or not the sender is actually within the field. By then Scott was in Chillicothe, so we had him stay put while Rob and I drove a hundred-mile-radius circle around him. We were just lucky that you'd gone to ground inside that range-we would have had to start all over again with a new circle otherwise."

Gingerly, I took it. "What now?"

Gordy answered immediately; clearly, he'd already thought this through. "Rob and I will take Green away in his car while you drive Colleen back to Chillicothe in the van-you'll have both shields that way. I'll call Scott as soon as I'm clear here, so he'll be out of the way by the time you get there. After you drop her off, you can bring the van and shields back to Des Moines. I guess Rob or somebody will have to go retrieve your car later."

"Where will you be?" I asked him.

He hesitated, glancing at Green. "I'll be in the Dubuque area for a couple of days, I think," he said softly.

"Even without access to Amos's devices Green knows too much about telepath shields. I don't think we should take the chance."

Beside me, I felt Colleen shiver. It had been done before, I knew; Nelson had used cult-style brainwashing techniques to condition the men who'd hijacked Amos's plane. With the insights and feedback telepathic contact permitted, the process wouldn't take Gordy more than three or four days.

Looking at Green's grim expression, I realized that he'd already figured out what we would have to do. I almost felt sorry for him, but decided to save my sympathy for Gordy instead. "I suppose you're right," I said. "Do whatever you have to."

The three of them left a few minutes later. Standing together by the van, Colleen and I watched their tail-lights disappear among the trees. The sound of crunching gravel had been swallowed up by the rustling of leaves before she spoke. "We realty don't have to leave here right away, you know," she pointed out. "Now that Green's gone, perhaps we could stay here for a few days."

"And try to repair the damage that's been done to my dreams?" I shook my head. "No. It's too late for that."

"I'm sorry." Her murmur was barely audible.

"Don't be," I said quickly. "It wasn't your fault. It's just that... we were like two cardboard cutouts in there. All of what makes you you was missing."

The words were hopelessly inadequate, and I knew it; but even as I groped for better ones I felt her nod.

"I know," she said, and there was no mistaking the note of relief in her voice. "Your telepath shield made us normal people for two days... but we can't be normal people; not really. Maybe with enough time and effort we could learn some of the techniques, but it wouldn't be the same. I think perhaps we've been spoiled by our ability, even while taking it for granted. Even if the machines could somehow be made foolproof..." She shook her head.

"I understand." I sighed. "I'm sorry, Colleen-sorry for everything. It seems sometimes like everything I've done the past five months has gone wrong."

"I understand." I sighed. "I'm sorry, Colleen-sorry for everything. It seems sometimes like everything I've done the past five months has gone wrong."

I snorted. "Even there I didn't have any choice. I couldn't let you die like that. It was how Amos died...

how Nelson killed him."

She shuddered. "I guess we'd better go," she said, her voice dark again.

I nodded silently and we climbed into the van. It was strange, I thought, how dreams so seldom live up to their expectations. I'd wanted to be able to hold Colleen, to talk to her, and-yes, admit it-to make love to her. Now, all I could think about was getting a hundred miles away from her as fast as I could... so that we could be together again.

I was tired of being alone.

BLACK THOUGHTS AT MIDNIGHT

One by one, the last few cars and trucks vanished from the interstate, disappearing down exits to their homes, or-in the case of the trucks-pulled off into rest stop parking lots or entrance ramp shoulders by their drivers for a few hours of sleep. By midnight, new headlights were showing up only once every ten or fifteen minutes, in either direction. By one o'clock, even those stragglers were gone.

And I was alone. Alone, with a lopsided island of rolling pavement in my van's misaligned headlights the only barrier between me and the darkness outside.

I had forgotten, or perhaps never fully known, just how dark the night was.

An absence of light, my educated mind told me; nothing more or less than that. But that was a civilized definition, created by civilized city dwellers for whom darkness was merely not enough light to read by.

Out here, driving through North Dakota under a starless November sky, things were far different. The night had a life and a reality of its own; a malevolent life, stirring ancient fears deep within me. Beyond the range of my headlights the world ceased to exist; to my left, I could all but visualize ethereal hands pressing blackly against the side window. Half an hour yet to the Canadian border. Border crossing formalities, time unknown, particularly if they decided to give me grief over the bulky apparatus strapped down behind my seat. Six more hours after that to Regina.

Seven hours, plus or minus. Seven hours before I could get to Colleen.

I shouldn't have thought her name-Dale? her thought brushed sleepily across my mind.

I clenched my teeth. Damn it all-I'd woken her up. It's all right, Colleen, I told her, burying my own tension as best I could and working hard at being soothing. If she came fully awake again-It's all right. Go back to sleep.

I held my breath; but even as the first flickers of pain began to show through her fogged mind the codeine-laced medicine she'd taken three hours ago glazed it over again. Okay, she said, already slipping back down. The word faded into vague, non-verbal sensations, then disappeared entirely.

I took a careful breath, hearing my teeth rattle together with the strain as I did so. Seven more hours to go. Seven more hours of utter helplessness, piled on top of two weeks' worth of steadily growing fears and frustrations. Fears, frustrations, and questions... and the horrifying revelation that had driven me onto this road eleven hours ago.

I took a careful breath, hearing my teeth rattle together with the strain as I did so. Seven more hours to go. Seven more hours of utter helplessness, piled on top of two weeks' worth of steadily growing fears and frustrations. Fears, frustrations, and questions... and the horrifying revelation that had driven me onto this road eleven hours ago.

I gritted my teeth. Damn it all, Calvin-no one invited you to listen in.

He didn't reply, but just stayed there, quietly radiating calm and patience and strength... and my anger evaporated, leaving me feeling like a rat. As he no doubt knew I would. I'm sorry, I apologized grudgingly. I know you're just trying to help.

I didn't notice until after I'd said them how easily my words could be construed as a backhanded insult. I hadn't meant them to come out that way, or at least I didn't think I had. It hardly mattered, though, not with Calvin Wolfe. Even when he noticed insults, he had the kind of overdeveloped patience and secure self-image that let him shrug such things off without even thinking about it.

As he did now. That's okay, he assured me, the patience and calm and strength undiminished. I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately. Where are you?

I tried to remember the towns that had been on the last exit sign, but it was a futile effort. I'd passed far too many exit signs since leaving Des Moines. Thirty-odd miles south of Canada.

You're making good time, he said, and I caught just a hint of uneasy disapproval as he made a quick estimate of the speed I'd been doing. About due for another break, aren't you?

I snorted gently to myself. Who are you, my mother?

Some of the patience cracked, just a little. Come on, Dale-you're not going to do Colleen and her migraines any good at all if you conk out at the wheel doing seventy.

I gritted my teeth, fighting against the swirling emotions with me. He was right, of course; I wouldn't do them any good that way. Not Colleen, not her headaches, not-I won't fall asleep, I growled, pushing the thought aside and reaching down for the two-liter bottle of cola wedged beside my seat. Working the cap off one-handed, I took a good swig. If you're worried about it, you always can tell me stories to keep me awake.

The patience cracked a little further. Instead of that, he countered, why don't you tell me one? Like, for instance, just what exactly is wrong with Colleen?

You know what's wrong, I said, the words coming out with the easy glibness of two weeks' practice.

She's suddenly started developing migraine headaches. The doctors don't know yet what's causing them.

But she knows. It was a statement, not a question, without a whisper of doubt behind the words. And so do you.

I could have denied it-had denied it, in fact, several times in the past twelve hours, vehemently and with a fair imitation of wounded dignity. But it was the Nelson part of me that was the consummate liar... and after eleven hours on the road, that part was as weary as the rest of me. You're right, I conceded. She figured it out yesterday evening, and I-well, sort of bullied her into telling me this morning.

And you responded by loading the telepath shields into a rented van and charging hell-for-leather to her rescue.

And you responded by loading the telepath shields into a rented van and charging hell-for-leather to her rescue.

Is it? he countered. Is it really?

There was something in his tone. Something that told me he had figured it out. Calvin. Please-just let it alone.

I can't do that, Dale, he said, almost gently. This is going to impact on all of us. He hesitated. Colleen's pregnant, isn't she?

I sighed. Yes.

There was a short silence, and even through my fatigue and worry I found it blackly amusing to watch the three different directions Calvin's thoughts went skittering off in. On one hand were the mainly scientific questions of dominant versus recessive genes, and what the odds were that the child Colleen was carrying might not have been a telepath at all. Beneath that line of thought was another, more worried set as he considered what would happen to both of them as the fetus continued to develop, putting dangerous close-approach pressure on both minds.

And buried almost invisibly behind both of those was the really worrisome question: whether I had known the woman I loved had been sleeping with another man. How I was feeling about the whole thing, whether what I was really doing was charging to Regina to confront her with it....

You misunderstand, Calvin, I told him. It's my child Colleen's pregnant with.

Close-approach distance-the distance at which two telepaths had surface-thought communications with each other whether they wanted it or not-was supposed to be around a hundred miles. Off-hand, I couldn't remember if any of us had ever close-approached a sleeping person before, but with my own fatigue already tugging at my eyes-and with Colleen's mental patterns being heavily damped by the codeine-it didn't seem like a good time to experiment. As Calvin had pointed out, wrapping my van around a tree wouldn't do anyone any good.

So, just outside Brandon-maybe two hundred crow-wise miles from Regina-I pulled off the road, revved up the portable generator in the rear of the van, and switched on both of the telepath shields.

And a portion of my world went black.

It was an eerie and decidedly scary feeling, made all the worse by the lonely darkness around me. Ever since my early teens, when my telepathy had first begun to develop, there'd been a sort of permanent haze of thought-clutter that added an unobtrusive background to every waking minute. Most of it came from normals out beyond my twenty-foot sensitivity range, and I'd long since gotten so used to it that I had to stop and concentrate before I could even hear it. But with the shields on, all that was gone.

Three of us-Colleen, Gordy Sears, and I-had spent varying amounts of time in the shield a month earlier, and we had yet to come up with an adequate verbal description of the experience. The gap where a tooth used to be had been Colleen's best attempt; growing up next to a waterfall and then going deaf had been Gordy's.

Three of us-Colleen, Gordy Sears, and I-had spent varying amounts of time in the shield a month earlier, and we had yet to come up with an adequate verbal description of the experience. The gap where a tooth used to be had been Colleen's best attempt; growing up next to a waterfall and then going deaf had been Gordy's.

And now here I was heading back into that loneliness again. The loneliness, and the risk of horrible death if both shields should somehow fail at the same time.

Perhaps Calvin was right to be worried. Perhaps the ghost of Nelson Follstadt I carried within me was still trying to kill Colleen and me.

Maybe this time it would succeed.

I reached Colleen's house a little after eight in the morning; and had just about decided to break down the door when she finally answered the bell.

My first look at her as she fumbled with the storm door latch was a shock. Her face was pale and drawn, with lines etched into the skin that hadn't been there five weeks ago, and her shoulders seemed rounded with fatigue.

And then the storm door came open, and she was in my arms. "Dale," she said into my shoulder. Her body trembled against me; and yet, even as I winced at the tiredness and memory of pain in her voice, I could tell that the pain itself was gone. The telepath shields, blocking the deadly searchlight-strength blazes of our two minds, had also wiped out Colleen's headaches.

We got in out of the doorway-it was just above freezing outside and all Colleen was wearing was a thin robe-and she led me to the living room. "You made good time," she said, sinking onto a well-worn couch and rubbing at her eyes.

"I was inspired," I told her, carefully setting down the briefcase containing the portable telepath shield before collapsing next to her. At the outskirts of Regina, with the end of the long road in sight, I'd experienced a small adrenaline rush, but most of that had already faded away. "How are you feeling?" I asked, slipping my arm around her shoulders and holding her against me.

"Better than I have in weeks. She sighed. "My head hurts a little, but I think it's just left-over muscle tension. Nothing like the migraines." She paused, as if listening. "It's so quiet."

I looked down at her, a shiver running up my back. "You don't mean... you weren't getting any actual thoughts from the baby, were you?"

She shook her head, her hair swishing across my nose and cheek with the movement. "Oh, no. I just meant... you know. Outside."

The background thought-clutter. "Yeah," I nodded understanding. And it wasn't just the clutter that was gone; so too was the effortless communication with the rest of our group. A communication and friendship that all of us had grown accustomed to-for most of us, the only real friendships we had.

Slowly, it was starting to percolate through my numbed brain just how much Colleen was going to have to give up here. "I'll be right here with you, I assured her. "The whole eight months, if you need me."

Slowly, it was starting to percolate through my numbed brain just how much Colleen was going to have to give up here. "I'll be right here with you, I assured her. "The whole eight months, if you need me."

I yawned, too. "We'd better get you back to bed before we both collapse right here," I said. Gathering my strength, I stood up and took her hands. "Come on; let's go."

She was practically sleepwalking by the time I got her to her bedroom. My original plan had been to go back outside and unload the other, bulkier telepath shield from the van before sacking out myself; but seeing Colleen stretched across the bed was too much for me. There would be plenty of time for such details, I told myself as I took off my shoes, after I'd caught up a little on my sleep.

It was four-thirty in the afternoon when I finally awoke, reasonably rested but with that stiff feeling I always get when I sleep in my clothes. Colleen didn't stir as I eased carefully out of bed and tiptoed out of the room. In the living room I put on my shoes and coat and headed out to check the van.

The gasoline generator had run out of fuel while we slept, shutting down current to the floor-model telepath shield that had been running off of it. The shield itself was probably still operating-Rob Peterson had installed a battery backup system just two weeks ago-but the silent generator still gave me an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. Our limited experiments with the backup had showed that even fully charged batteries faded in a matter of hours, as opposed to the seven to ten days of power a similar pack provided to the more efficient portable model sitting inside by the couch.

Not that we could afford to trust either shield by itself, which was why I'd brought both of them with me.

Later this evening I would manhandle the larger model into Colleen's house and plug it into regular line current. But with sundown only another half hour away I decided I might as well hold off until full darkness, when any nosy neighbors who happened to be watching would have less to see.

It took only a minute to drive outside the house shield's half-mile range and pull over to the curb.

Switching off the ignition, I stretched back against the cold van seat, and for a moment just listened to the background thought-clutter that once again filled the corners of my mind. Gordy's old inadequate image of living by a waterfall flicked to mind....

Dale?

With an effort, I forced my mind from the quiet exhilaration of just being normal again. I'm here, Gordy, I acknowledged.

You all right? Calvin's thought joined in. We've been trying to reach you all day.

I'm fine, I told him. Sorry, about that-I lay down for a short nap that stretched out a bit.

Yeah, we thought that might be it, Gordy said.

Not that it stopped us from worrying, Calvin added dryly. Do remind Colleen to turn her phone back on when you get back to the house, too. He paused, and I could sense him brace himself. So... how is she doing?

The pain's gone, I told them. When I left a few minutes ago she was still sleeping like a baby.

Ah. Gordy's reaction to the simile was brief and low-key, but it was enough to confirm that Calvin had filled him in. As I'd rather expected he would. It was a close-approach problem, then, he added.

Ah. Gordy's reaction to the simile was brief and low-key, but it was enough to confirm that Calvin had filled him in. As I'd rather expected he would. It was a close-approach problem, then, he added.

Not really. Gordy hesitated. We didn't tell anyone else, by the way. We thought that timing should be up to you and Colleen.

Though such considerations hadn't stopped Calvin from spilling the beans to Gordy.... Shaking my head sharply, I cut the thought off. Calvin, Gordy, and I were the only ones of our group Colleen could regularly reach from Regina. It was only fair that her best friends be let in on what had happened, and to hell with Nelson's paranoic tendencies. Thanks, I appreciate that, I said. I take it, then, that you think we should tell everyone?

I don't see how you can avoid it, Calvin said. Colleen's going to have to stay in the telepath shield for the next eight months, minimum, and someone's bound to notice in all that time that she's disappeared from sight.

Besides, why would you want to keep something like this secret? Gordy added. The first child born to anyone in our group, let alone to two of us? It ought to be something to cheer about.

I grimaced. And what about the telepath shield? Should we cheer about that, too?

There was a slight pause, and I felt Gordy's enthusiasm deflate a bit. Ouch, he said.

At the very least, I agreed with perhaps an unnecessary touch of sarcasm. Word leaks out about that and we're going to be right back where we were with Ted Green last month.

They thought about that for a long moment. Maybe we can still keep it private knowledge within the group, Calvin offered doubtfully. Colleen doesn't have any real commitments she can't bow out of for the next few months, does she?

Her doctor knows she's having headaches, I pointed out. If she's at all competent she isn't going to drop it just because Colleen says everything's all better now.

There was another moment of silence. We'll think of something, Gordy said at last. For the moment the main job is to keep Colleen and the baby healthy. Is there anything we can do to help?

Not that I can think of, I told them. If I come up with anything, I'll let you know.

Okay, Calvin said. You think we ought to set up some regularly scheduled contact time when you'll be outside the shield?

Maybe later we'll need to do something like that, I said. For now, I don't think it's necessary. I'll have to leave in a couple of days, anyway, if I'm going to get the van back to Des Moines before the rental period runs out.

You want me to fly in to stay with her while you're gone? Gordy offered.

A brief surge of jealousy flashed through me before I could suppress it. Absurd, of course-Gordy was nothing more to Colleen than a good friend. Let me see how she's doing when she wakes up, I suggested. If she feels like she'd like company, I'll let you know.

Unless you'd rather I not even offer...?

So he'd caught the flicker of emotion. No, of course not, I said, feeling my face flushing with embarrassment. Sorry-Nelson must have taken over for a minute.

There was a short, awkward silence, and I realized my apology had made things worse instead of better.

Neither Gordy nor Calvin had made any secret lately of the fact that they thought my close-approach with Nelson had become altogether too convenient a catch-all excuse for me. Sure, Dale, Gordy said at last. Anyway, let me know what she says.

Right. Well, I suppose I'd better get back. See if she's woken up yet and find an out-of-the-way corner to hook the big shield up in.

Okay, we'll leave you to it, Calvin said. Take care of her, Dale, and keep in touch. Maybe on your drive back to Iowa we can hold a round table on just how we're going to keep all of this quiet.

And who all we're going to keep it quiet from, Gordy added. Say hi to Colleen for us, okay?

Sure, I said, turning the van's ignition key again. And don't worry about it. We've got plenty of time to come up with a workable plan.

And I really believed that as I broke contact and turned around to head back to Colleen's. Really believed that we had weeks-even months-to come up with a good story.

If I'd only known that I had, instead, exactly four minutes....

I saw the flashing red lights two blocks away; but it wasn't until I got past a camper parked on the wrong side of the street that I realized the ambulance was pulled up directly in front of Colleen's house.

I bounced the van half up on the curb right behind it and scrambled out, banging my shin on the door in the process. I hardly noticed, my full attention on trying to see into the slightly ajar ambulance doors.

There was no one inside, which meant she was still in the house. Racing across the lawn, I threw open the front door and dashed into the living room. "Colleen?" I called.

"Over here," her voice said from my right. Skidding to a halt, I turned to find her sitting calmly on the couch, a stethoscope-armed woman seated beside her and a group of three men standing in a loose circle around her.

All of them, at the moment, looking at me. And doing nothing else.

"What's going on?" I asked when I got my voice back.

"This is Dr. DuBois," Colleen told me, indicating the woman beside her. "She tells me-" she swallowed-"that I may have lost my baby."

I stared at Colleen, then at the doctor, then back at Colleen. "I don't understand," I said. "What-I mean how-?"

I was interrupted by a loud beep and a flurry of unintelligible speech from one of the paramedics' belts.

"Doctor...?" he asked, pulling the radio from its holder.

He nodded, acknowledging the call with some kind of number code as he and the other two men brushed past me and left. I closed the door behind them and watched as they hurried across the lawn, my thoughts a swirling mass of utter confusion. Only hours earlier I would have sworn the baby was perfectly fine; and now this....

"How?" I asked the doctor again.

DuBois opened her mouth; but it was Colleen who answered. "Because the headaches have stopped,"

Colleen answered for her.

I frowned at her, saw the tight look in her eyes. As if she was pleading silently with me to understand....

And abruptly, I did. Somehow, probably through all the tests Colleen had been taking, DuBois had discovered she was pregnant and realized where the migraines were coming from. But with the headaches now stopped-and with no way to know about the telepath shield-she had come to the only conclusion possible, that one of the two conflicting minds had ceased to exist.

Relief washed over me. Relief that the baby was not, in fact dead; relief that now we didn't have to think up some story about the migraines to get the doctor off Colleen's back.

All of that assuming, of course, that DuBois was indeed thinking the same way I was. "You mean that the headaches were because-?" I asked, trying to draw her out.

DuBois nodded, the eerie hint of flashing red fading from her face as the ambulance outside drove off.

"Because Colleen and her baby were far closer together than two telepaths can safely be," she explained.

She looked at Colleen. "Is this-?"

"He's a good friend," Colleen told her. "He understands about telepaths."

DuBois nodded and turned back to me. "Then you must understand that both of them were in great danger," she said gently. "In fact, that's why I brought an ambulance here this evening, to get Colleen to the hospital for an emergency abortion. As it happened-" she shrugged slightly-"in this case Nature provided her own solution."

I shivered, memories of my own close-approach with Nelson flashing to mind. DuBois saw, misunderstood. "Don't worry-I'm sure Colleen will be all right," she assured me. "We'll make sure tomorrow. Unless-?" She looked back at Colleen, eyebrows raised.

Colleen shook her head. "Tomorrow will be early enough. I'd rather not start a full examination right now."

"Okay." DuBois reached over to squeeze Colleen's hand, then stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then-ten sharp. But don't hesitate to call before then if you have any problems."

She pulled her stethoscope off her neck and dropped it into her bag. Picking up her coat, she got into it as she walked to the door. I opened it for her, she nodded her thanks And suddenly her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open, and the whole thing went straight to hell.

"You're Dale Ravenhall," she breathed, staring at my face as if seeing a ghost. "You're one of-" She spun to look at Colleen, twisted back to stare at me. "You can't be here."

And suddenly her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open, and the whole thing went straight to hell.

"You're Dale Ravenhall," she breathed, staring at my face as if seeing a ghost. "You're one of-" She spun to look at Colleen, twisted back to stare at me. "You can't be here."

DuBois mustn't find out about it. At all costs, she mustn't find out.

She was still staring at me. Swallowing hard, I closed the door and took a careful breath. "What I'm about to say," I told her, "is something you must promise to keep to yourself. I mean absolutely to yourself. Is that clear, Doctor?"

She hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded. "I promise," she said gravely.

I nodded back, wishing to heaven I wasn't in the middle of the telepath shield. If she was lying through her teeth, I'd never know it. "All right. You can test for this tomorrow, but my guess is that the baby is still fine. What seems to have happened is that both he and Colleen have totally lost their telepathic abilities."

Behind DuBois, Colleen nearly fell off the couch. "It seems to be a side-effect of the pregnancy," I rushed on before she could blurt something that would pop the bubble. "A safety mechanism, I guess; otherwise, like you said, a telepath couldn't possibly live through a pregnancy."

DuBois nodded slowly. "I see," she said thoughtfully. "Strange, indeed."

"Not all that strange," I argued, digging desperately for half-remembered facts as I fought to create something reasonable-sounding on the run. "I mean, a woman's digestive system shuts down during labor, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but that's hardly comparable," DuBois shook her head, turning to look at Colleen. "This is more like a controlled stroke, or possibly something like hysterical amnesia. Either way, it implies that some part of her brain has completely shut down." She looked back at me, her eyes shining with sudden excitement. "Yes. And if so, it means we should finally be able to discover where exactly in the brain the telepathic talent originates."

Even with the cool air leaking in from the front door beside me, I felt sweat beginning to collect on my forehead. "I really don't think this is the time to put Colleen through a whole battery of tests," I suggested cautiously.

"Why not?" DuBois countered, turning back to Colleen. "Don't you see what this might mean, Colleen?-after years of warm-air speculation, we could be on the edge of finally learning what makes you tick. Learning how and where the telepathy comes from-maybe figuring out how to turn it on and off at will-"

"And what will all this testing do to my baby?" Colleen asked quietly.

A lot of doctors would probably have popped off with a brusque or even patronizing dismissal of the question. To DuBois's credit, she didn't. "It should be safe enough," she said instead. "There's no way to guarantee that, unfortunately, not with a fetus with the abilities this one clearly has. But medical science has had a lot of experience with non-intrusive testing over the past couple of decades, and I think the chances of danger will be extremely small." guarantee that, unfortunately, not with a fetus with the abilities this one clearly has. But medical science has had a lot of experience with non-intrusive testing over the past couple of decades, and I think the chances of danger will be extremely small."

We discussed and argued and bargained with DuBois for over an hour. In the end, we gave in.

You told her what?

I clenched my teeth. Will you for God's sake settle down, Gordy? I said. It's no big deal.

I'm so glad you're more relaxed about life these days, he came back acidly. I don't suppose you've by any chance considered the possible consequences of this stupid lie of yours?

So what was I supposed to do, tell her about the shield?

Why not? She could probably have been trusted with the secret.

"Probably" isn't good enough, I insisted. And I'm sorry if the lie wasn't up to your usual standards. Next time I have to come up with one on the spur of the moment I'll ask for sealed bids.

Gordy's comeback would probably have been a juicy one, but Calvin cut in before he could speak. All right, everyone relax, he said in that calmly authoritative tone of his. What's done is done. Let's concentrate on figuring out how this is going to affect Colleen.

How it's going to affect her is that she's going to get hauled off to the hospital tomorrow, Gordy said blackly. What are you planning to do, Dale, walk her back and forth between testing rooms lugging the shield?

I turned to peer out the van's side window at the brightly lit building beside me, my breath making a patch of frost on the glass as I did so. As it happens, I'm sitting outside the hospital right now, I told them. As long as I park reasonably close in tomorrow the shield should have no trouble covering the whole building.

That's fine for tomorrow, Calvin pointed out. What happens when they find out that none of her brain cells have in fact closed up shop? Is DuBois the type who'll push for more tests?

Like at the Mayo Clinic or somewhere equally far out of town? Gordy added before I could answer.

Blast it all, Dale-you should have just told DuBois that you weren't you.

It wouldn't have helped any, I insisted. Actually, that approach hadn't occurred to me until it was too late-our faces had been splashed on the world's TV screens enough times over the years that I'd never even considered trying to bluff my way out. But I'd had plenty of time since then to realize why it wouldn't have worked anyway. She was already busy scheduling Colleen in for tests when the shoe dropped. Or were you thinking that during all that she might miss the fact that Colleen was still carrying a live fetus?

She might have concluded that the baby's telepathic abilities had burned out, Calvin pointed out. But I suppose that would simply have called for a different set of tests. I'm afraid Dale's probably right, Gordy; the minute the doctor commandeered that ambulance, anything he or Colleen could say or do would only have bought us a temporary reprieve.

Thank you, I said, passing over the point that the only "us" really involved here were Colleen and me and the baby. And as for season tickets to the Mayo Clinic, we've already been through that with DuBois.

This is going to be a one-day, single-shot study marathon; guaranteed, end of argument. They get all the data they need tomorrow or they're out of luck.

Thank you, I said, passing over the point that the only "us" really involved here were Colleen and me and the baby. And as for season tickets to the Mayo Clinic, we've already been through that with DuBois.

This is going to be a one-day, single-shot study marathon; guaranteed, end of argument. They get all the data they need tomorrow or they're out of luck.

Her nose was in the tent the minute Colleen went to her for help with the migraines, Calvin said heavily.

No way to keep this from getting out, I don't suppose?

I shrugged, the movement making my coat squeak against the van's seatback. We can try, but I'm not optimistic. DuBois will want to publish anything she finds, of course, but we've probably got a few weeks or months before that hits the journals. More likely the simple fact of Colleen's pregnancy will leak through one of the people who help do the testing tomorrow.

Any way you can identify the ones most likely to talk and maybe-I don't know-persuade them not to or something?

With my head inside the telepath shield?

I sensed Calvin's quick flash of annoyed embarrassment. Oh. Right.

For a moment there was silence. I guess there's really nothing else we can do at the moment, Calvin said at last. Reluctantly.

Not really, I agreed. Before I forget, Colleen said that you might as well start passing the word to the rest of the group. Probably ought to wait until morning-there's no reason to wake people up for this.

We'll do that, Calvin promised. How is Colleen holding up?

I hissed between my teeth. I would have given almost anything to have said she was doing well; or doing badly, or doing medium. But the simple truth was-I don't know, I had to tell them, hearing the undertone of frustration behind the words. I'm... not very good at reading her.

Another brief moment of silence, an awkward one this time. You'll get better at it, Gordy assured me.

Just give yourself time.

I grimaced. Time. It was, indeed, one thing we were likely to have plenty of. Right. Well... I'll talk to you both tomorrow.

Colleen had a roaring fire going in the fireplace, and was sitting at the far end of the couch staring at it, when I returned from my reconnoiter and long-range discussion group. "Well?" she asked, not turning as I closed the door behind me.

"They're not exactly turning cartwheels," I admitted, shrugging off my coat and draping it over the nearest chair. "But they don't see what else we could have done."

"Except maybe telling Dr. DuBois the truth in the first place."

I winced. I'd defended my decision to lie about the shield-defended it successfully, too-in front of Calvin and Gordy. But defending it in front of Colleen was another matter entirely. "I'm sorry," I said. "I really think things would have been worse if we'd told her about the shield, but-well, I know it stepped on your sensibilities, and I'm sorry for that."

I winced. I'd defended my decision to lie about the shield-defended it successfully, too-in front of Calvin and Gordy. But defending it in front of Colleen was another matter entirely. "I'm sorry," I said. "I really think things would have been worse if we'd told her about the shield, but-well, I know it stepped on your sensibilities, and I'm sorry for that."

She still didn't look up... but from my new perspective I could now see the tear stains on her cheeks.

"Colleen?"

"It's so lonely," she whispered. "So lonely, Dale. When you left to talk with the others... I've never been alone before. Not like this."

I sat down beside her and slid my arm around her shoulders. Her body trembled against mine. "It'll be okay," I said soothingly. Even I could hear how fatuous the words sounded. "It'll be okay. I'll stay with you as long as you want me to."

She sighed; a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm not going to make it, Dale. Not eight whole months-not like this.

"You'll make it, Colleen." More fatuous words. "You'll make it because you're not the type to give up.

And because it has to be done."

"Does it? Does it really?"

I felt an icy shiver run up my back. "What alternative is there?"

She didn't answer... but then, she didn't have to. DuBois had already talked about the alternative. "Do you want to have an abortion?" I asked her in a low voice.

"What, kill the only child ever conceived by two telepaths?" A sound that was half laugh, half sob, escaped her lips. "What would the group say?"

"They'd understand," I told her. "Besides, now that we've got the telepath shield this can be done again. If anyone wants it done."

For a long minute the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. "What happens after the baby is born?" Colleen asked at last. "I can't stay in the shield for eighteen years."

"I know." That much, at least, was obvious. "We'd have to put him up for adoption. Scott's got a lot of connections with lawyers in the New Orleans area, and Lisa knows everyone important from Philadelphia to the Canadian border. We'll have them quietly get the wheels grinding."

She didn't say anything, just shifted beside me and brought her hand up to rest on her abdomen. "I don't know. None of the options... I just don't know."

"Me, too," I told her. "Look, we don't have to make any major decisions tonight. Let's just get you through DuBois's marathon of tests tomorrow and see how you feel then. All right?"

"Sure." She stared at the fire for a minute, then sighed. "It's funny, you know. When I was a little girl I dreamed about being a mother-played house with my dolls for hours at a time. Then I hit puberty, and all the strange sounds I'd been hearing all my life sharpened into words, and I found out what I was... and I knew I'd never be able to have children. The dream died slowly, kicking and screaming all the way. But finally I had to accept it." dreamed about being a mother-played house with my dolls for hours at a time. Then I hit puberty, and all the strange sounds I'd been hearing all my life sharpened into words, and I found out what I was... and I knew I'd never be able to have children. The dream died slowly, kicking and screaming all the way. But finally I had to accept it."

She sniffed, twice, and abruptly I realized she was crying again. "I'm scared, Dale," she said between silent sobs. "I'm scared that I'll hate the baby for what I'll have to go through for her. Or else that I...

won't be able to give her up."

There were things I could have said. Soothing things, words of comfort and assurance and trust, none of which would have done the slightest good whatsoever. And so I did the only other thing I could think of to do.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly against me, and listened helplessly as she cried.

Along with Nelson's paranoia and general lack of honesty, I had also picked up some of his boundless confidence; but by morning my own natural caution had reasserted itself, and we wound up fudging a bit on my original plans. Instead of both of us driving together to the hospital, we took separate vehicles: Colleen in her own car with the portable telepath shield in the trunk, me in the van with the larger line-current model and gasoline generator chugging away in back. It meant I had to stay with the van most of the day, lest the generator's puffing exhaust line poking out the back doors attracted unwelcome attention, but even that was probably a blessing in disguise. Much as I hated abandoning Colleen to DuBois's gauntlet of tests without being there to hold her hand, I'd begun to wonder if it would perhaps be more than a little foolhardy to parade together all day among dozens of hospital staff and patients. As long as DuBois was the only one who knew about Colleen's "lost" telepathic powers-and as long as she didn't break her promise to keep that knowledge confidential-there was a chance of stuffing the lie back into its bottle with a minimum of embarrassment. The minute someone else recognized me, that chance would be gone.

The middle of December in Regina is hardly the time or the place to be sitting outside in a van for hours on end, but it turned out not to be as bad as I'd feared. The weather, I gathered, had been somewhat warmer than usual for that time of year, and with the generator churning out a modicum of heat behind me and the blazing sunlight turning the van's dark-blue interior into a wraparound radiator, the temperature stayed reasonably tolerable.

Reasonably tolerable is still considerably short of warm, though, and my teeth were beginning to chatter when, six hours after our arrival, Colleen finally drove her car up beside me and gave me a tired nod. I nodded back and started the van, and twenty minutes later we were home.

"How'd it go?" I asked her, taking off my heavy boots and standing on one of the floor heating grates.

My toes tingled unpleasantly with returning sensation.

"Nothing I haven't had before," she sighed, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table and closing her eyes.

"Sort of a repeat performance of all the tests we went through when we were first identified as telepaths.

Plus a couple of encores they've dreamed up since then."

Those tests were nearly a decade in the past, but I still remembered them. Vividly. "The full spin cycle, in other words."

"Tolerable," I told her, "but all my best meals take at least an hour from scratch to fork. You up to waiting that long?"

She made a face. "Not really."

I nodded and reached for my boots. "Me, neither. What's your preference in fast food?"

She gave me directions to a chicken place and I headed back out to the van... and it was as I was preparing to pull out of the driveway that I first noticed the man sitting in the parked car down the street.

Waiting for someone to join him from one of the houses, I decided; but even so, I watched in the mirror as I headed down the street, half expecting him to pull out behind me. He didn't, and after the first wave of foolishness passed I forgot about him.

Until, that is, fifteen minutes later when I returned with the chicken and saw him still sitting there.

Perhaps if I hadn't just spent six hours sitting in a van in the middle of a Saskatchewan winter that wouldn't have struck me as quite so odd. But I had; and it did. Enough so that I made sure to lock up the van before I went inside, and immediately after eating went back out to bring the line-current telepath shield into the house. The sun was starting to go down by then, its heating effects long gone, but the man was still sitting in the car, a black silhouette against the pink clouds to the west.

By the time I had the shield inside and started searching for a good place to plug it in, Colleen had retired to her bedroom with a book. By the time it was ensconced in a corner of her back bedroom study and plugged in, the book was on the floor and she was sound asleep. Those two weeks of migraines were still taking their toll, I reflected, and a full day of medical tests certainly hadn't helped. Turning off her bedside reading lamp, I covered her with a quilt and bedspread and tiptoed out, closing the door behind me.

Two minutes later, wrapped up again in coat and scarf, I slipped quietly out the back door and padded through the half-frozen mud in the back yard around to the side of the house. Flitting between the house and detached garage, I came up to the side of my van and peered cautiously around it.

The watcher in the car was still there. Crouching against the van, partially obscured from his view by a section of hedge, I watched my breath make clouds of pale white and tried to figure out what to do.

Under other circumstances, it wouldn't have been a problem-with a sensing range for normals that was just under twenty-five feet, I would have had no trouble sneaking up close enough to find out who he was and what he was doing here. But with two telepath shields blasting away behind me, that was out of the question.

I was still trying to come up with a plan when he came up with one for me. From his direction I heard the faint sound of an engine being started, and a moment later his headlights came on and he pulled away from the curb to head leisurely down the street. Fifteen seconds later, I was on his trail.

He drove sedately, heading in toward the center of the city, without any sign of nervousness or awareness of my presence that I could detect. Which was just as well, given that everything I knew about tailing a car had come From watching TV cop shows. I tried to hang back in the waning rush-hour traffic, more worried about being noticed than I was of losing him, and waited impatiently for us to reach the edge of the telepath shield's half-mile range.

tailing a car had come From watching TV cop shows. I tried to hang back in the waning rush-hour traffic, more worried about being noticed than I was of losing him, and waited impatiently for us to reach the edge of the telepath shield's half-mile range.

back corners of my mind. Calvin? Gordy? I called.

Right here, Calvin came back immediately.

Me, too, Gordy added. So; how'd Colleen's tests-?

Later, I cut him off. I've got a problem.

I gave them a thumbnail sketch of my situation, and for a minute they were both silent. Could be he's just a reporter, Calvin suggested slowly.

That would be bad enough, I reminded him. Ahead, my quarry turned right at a small cross street. It would mean that someone at the hospital leaked the news about Colleen's pregnancy.

In which case you'd better Just turn east and keep going, Gordy said tartly. You let a reporter get a clear look at you and that cock-and-bull story about Colleen losing her telepathy will start its long slide down the tubes.

Unless he already has seen me, I pointed out grimly, reaching the corner and turning to follow. Hard to tell, not knowing the town, but it seemed to me we were heading back out of the main entertainment sections. In which case running does nothing but leave Colleen here to face the wolves alone.

Gordy considered that. So you follow him outside the shield's range and find out? he said doubtfully.

Seems risky, especially if he hasn't recognized you yet.

If I set things up right he won't have a chance in hell of spotting me, I reminded him. All I need is a crowded restaurant or bar or something- And what if he's not a reporter? Calvin put in.

My thought broke off in mid-sentence. There was an ominous darkness in Calvin's tone. What do you mean? Who else could he be?

Calvin seemed to hesitate. What if it's Ted Green?

I felt my mouth go dry. But that's impossible, I managed. Isn't it?

It most certainly is, Gordy said, his voice allowing for no argument. Everything Green knew about the shield was blocked. Permanently.

But maybe- I said permanently, Calvin, Gordy all but snarled. There was anger in his tone. Anger at the implication he hadn't done the job right- Anger with a clear haze of pain beneath it. When it was all over and we'd questioned him about it he'd shrugged off Green's brainwashing as merely distasteful and tiring. Now, for the first time, I was getting a glimpse of just how thoroughly he'd played down the horror and sheer dirtiness of the experience. Briefly, shamefully, I wondered if I'd ever thanked him properly for his sacrifice.

shrugged off Green's brainwashing as merely distasteful and tiring. Now, for the first time, I was getting a glimpse of just how thoroughly he'd played down the horror and sheer dirtiness of the experience. Briefly, shamefully, I wondered if I'd ever thanked him properly for his sacrifice.

It would have to be damn good addition, Gordy granted. But he said it thoughtfully, not defensively, and there was a growing uneasiness behind it. But I don't suppose there's any point in taking chances. I'll give Colleen a call and have her call the police.

They're going to need a reason to pick him up, Gordy, Calvin cautioned him.

I'm not worried about him, Gordy said shortly, and I sensed him scooping his phone off the hook. This particular guy can't do anything with Dale sitting there on his tail. But he might not be working alone.

My heart seemed to seize up inside my chest. I hadn't even thought about that... and I'd left Colleen alone, asleep and helpless. Gordy- Shut up-it's ringing.

I shut up, and for a moment I drove in silence, listening to the sort of faraway echo effect that always comes of listening in while another telepath speaks aloud. Gordy gave Colleen a quick summary of what we thought or suspected and told her to call the police and tell them she'd spotted someone skulking around the neighborhood. I could hear the worry in her echo-effect voice, and for a long minute wondered if I should just turn around and get back to her. But even as I heard Gordy hang up-Uh-oh... I said.

What is it? Calvin asked sharply.

My cue, I think. A block ahead, my quarry had turned into a pocket-sized parking lot. Pulling smoothly to the curb, I killed my lights and watched as he got out and headed across the street. He disappeared into a building with a garish neon sign in the window-somebody's night club, it was called, I couldn't quite read the name from the angle I was at. This is it, I announced, opening the van's door and stepping down.

It was quiet-strangely quiet-with only a few cars moving anywhere within my sight and no pedestrians at all. The skin on the back of my neck tingled; swallowing, I headed for the building. I get the distinct feeling I'm not in the better part of town, I told Calvin and Gordy, trying not to let my sudden nervousness show through.

It was a wasted effort. Dale, maybe we'd better call this off, Calvin said. Who knows what you might be walking into there?

He's probably not a reporter if he's in a place like that, Gordy added. And if he's something shady, you sure as anything don't want to confront him.

It was a sentiment I could wholeheartedly agree with. But even as I weighed the pros and cons in my own mind, my feet kept on walking....

Dale?

Quiet a minute-I'm listening. I took another few steps toward the night club, the action putting me within listening range of another handful of the bar's patrons; and it was immediately clear that my darkest fears had been for nothing. It's all right, I told them, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. There's nothing particularly sinister here. A little off-beat, but it seems safe enough. I'm going in.

listening range of another handful of the bar's patrons; and it was immediately clear that my darkest fears had been for nothing. It's all right, I told them, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. There's nothing particularly sinister here. A little off-beat, but it seems safe enough. I'm going in.

I think it's euphemistically referred to as exotic dancing, Gordy told me, and through the heavy tension in his tone I caught just a glimpse of amusement at my surprise.

Right. Anyway, it explained the curious sense I'd had coming in, an aloof sort of lust. It was, I decided, probably difficult to get really worked up, even by a semi-nude dancer, in a large room with a bunch of other men.

And there were a fair number of men there, considering the early hour. Most were sitting on stools pulled up against the stage area, but a handful of tables and booths further out were occupied, as well. All eyes were on the dancers, which was fine with me: my quarry would never see me coming. Piece of cake.

Unless he spotted you following him, Calvin warned. Be careful.

Sure. As casually as possible, I sauntered away from the door, eyes darting for likely prospects as I sorted through the cacophony of thoughts surrounding me. It wasn't quite as bad as trying to follow a conversation at a crowded party, fortunately, since looking directly at a person usually sharpened that particular mental voice. I walked slowly past the near side of the stage, shifted direction slightly toward the tables and the booths- I'd been wrong. There was one pair of eyes most emphatically not on the gyrating women. A pair of eyes locked solidly on my own....

Oh, my God.

What? Calvin and Gordy demanded together.

My mouth had gone dry. There's a murderer here, I told them. John Talbot Myers, wanted in Toronto for three killings during a bank robbery. For a brief second I thought about trying to escape; but it was instantly clear that even trying it would be suicidal. From his back booth, Myers had seen me walking slowly around as if looking for someone, and was already half convinced that I was either a cop or an informer. His thoughts were edging toward lethal, and I caught a reference to a gun- Get out of there, Calvin snapped. Now.

Too late, I gritted. Too late to run, too late to pretend I hadn't noticed him; too late for anything.

Except....

I'm going to talk to him, I told the others. One of you better call the Regina police and tell them he's here.

I hope they believe you.

Dale- Quiet. Moving as casually as possible, I walked over toward Myers's booth. Nelson, I thought dimly, don't fail me now.

Dale- Quiet. Moving as casually as possible, I walked over toward Myers's booth. Nelson, I thought dimly, don't fail me now.

But I had a weapon, too, one he couldn't possibly know about. Less than three feet away from him now, I was finally close enough to dig beneath the surface thoughts for things he wasn't thinking about directly.

Heart pounding in my ears, my hands folded lightly together on top of the table, I probed furiously for something I could use.

And found it. "Well," I said at last, trying to keep my voice brusque and quiet at the same time. "About time you showed yourself? You have any idea how many places I've been in and out of looking for you?"

It was not what Myers had expected me to say, and for a moment surprise flashed across his mind. But only for a moment. "I think," he said, softly, "that you have me confused with someone else."

"Give it a rest, John," I said coldly. "Unless you've decided you don't want us to help you, that is."

His face didn't change. "And just who is this 'us'?"

I sighed theatrically, probing hard. I needed to tailor my story to the basics of Myers's situation, and while I had a handle on the framework, I still lacked several crucial details. But with a properly phrased question-and a little luck-Myers would supply me with what I needed. "What do you mean, who are we?" I demanded, letting a little scorn creep into my voice. "Who the hell knows you're here in Regina?"

"Why don't you tell me," he challenged. He was smart, all right, or at least smart enough to know that you didn't volunteer information like that to a stranger... and totally unaware that in thinking the answer to my question he'd done exactly that.

"Alan Thomas, of course," I said with an air of forced patience, suppressing a shiver as I picked up a short profile of the man from Myers's mind. Thomas was an old colleague from Myers's youth, heavily into Regina's criminal underside and as twisted as Myers himself. "He asked me to help get you out of here."

"Did he, now." Myers still wasn't ready to take me at face value, but the uncertainties were starting to creep in. "Describe him for me."

I could have done so easily, of course: awaiting my answer, Myers had what amounted to a full-color portrait of Thomas hovering in the front of his mind. But along with the portrait came the seeds of an easier way. "Why don't I just give you the name 'John Alexander' instead."

If a mind could heave a sigh of relief, Myers's would have done so. "John Alexander" was the name that Thomas was going to have false identity cards made up in to facilitate Myers's escape from Canada. "So why didn't Alan come himself?" he grunted, and I heard a faint click as he put the safety back on his pistol. "For that matter, what the hell was he doing, letting you in on this?"

"Because the plan's gone to hell," I told him. Calvin? Right here. I'm on the phone with the Regina police now.

I'm going to try and set Myers up for them. Listen in and cue them in on the story. Got it.

"Over there, watching the show by the stage." It was a safe enough fingering; there were over fifteen men there. "We figure he's either waiting for confirmation of who you are, or else already has reinforcements on the way."

Myers's eyes and thoughts had gone icy. "Let's get going, then," he said, his voice gently vicious. "I'll go first; you deal with him when he follows."

I snook my head minutely. "No need. Alan's come up with a better way to lose him." I smiled sardonically. "We'll simply, right here in front of him, have you arrested."

For a moment his acceptance of me vanished, and I held my breath. And then he got it. "Oh, that's cute," he said, and I sensed a genuine if hard-edged humor at the whole idea. "Real cute. Uniformed cops, squad car, the whole works?"

"Depends on what Alan can get hold of," I told him, letting myself breathe again. "May have to go with plainclothes types and an unmarked car." Dimly, I sensed Calvin relaying the plan to the police, and I sent up a quick prayer that they'd go along with it. If they didn't, there would be a gunfight for sure. "But either way, very convincing."

Myers's eyes swept the stage, too casually. "What if he follows us or wants to ride along?"

"No problem," I assured him, probing again. Thomas had a lot of quiet contacts, one of whom-"One of Alan's people at Mountie HQ ran a profile on the guy, and he's apparently been slapped down more than once for trying to hog credit he didn't deserve and stepping on local toes in the process. The boys who're coming have been briefed, and they'll just tell him to go take a hike if he tries to muscle his way in."

They're on their way, Dale, Calvin interjected into my thoughts. They say you're a damn fool for getting involved instead of calling them directly, but they're willing to go along with it.

Good. Tell them to just go ahead and come straight in-Myers isn't altogether crazy about the plan, but he buys it and he won't offer any resistance.

I'll tell them. They'll be there in maybe three minutes.

Which meant I had to move now if I wanted to avoid being picked up in the net and lose whatever chance I had left of keeping my presence in Regina a secret. "Okay," I said, glancing at my watch.

"They'll be here any minute. I'm going over there-" I nodded across the room-"where I can keep an eye on our Mountie friend."

Myers frowned. "Why? He's already seen you with me."

"That's the point," I agreed. "It means that after they take you out, he's got to choose which of us to follow. If it's me-no problem, I know how to lose him. If it's you-" I gave him a tight smile-"then I'll be behind him. Making sure he doesn't follow you very far."

Again Myers's eyes flicked over the men at the stage, and I caught him wondering why we were going to all this effort if I was going to take the Mountie out anyway. "I hope I don't have to do that, of course," I added. "Better all around if he just thinks the cops have beaten him to the punch and doesn't figure out what really happened for a couple of days. Nothing heats up a chase like taking out a Mountie."

Again Myers's eyes flicked over the men at the stage, and I caught him wondering why we were going to all this effort if I was going to take the Mountie out anyway. "I hope I don't have to do that, of course," I added. "Better all around if he just thinks the cops have beaten him to the punch and doesn't figure out what really happened for a couple of days. Nothing heats up a chase like taking out a Mountie."

I nodded to him and left; and I was seated casually across the room when the four plainclothesmen came in.

I held my breath... but it went as smoothly and beautifully as could be. They came over to Myers, underplaying it exactly as fake cops following my script might be expected to do; nothing to disturb the men watching the show, but more than enough for an undercover Mountie to notice. Myers submitted to them without argument or fuss, acting to probably the best of his ability like a man pretending he actually was being arrested. One of the cops went so far as to give him a reassuring wink as the cuffs went on, and after that Myers would have gone all the way to the police station with them.

Which, of course, he was going to. I wondered briefly what his reaction was going to be, decided my imagination wasn't up to it. They got him? Gordy asked, his tone tight.

Just taking him out the door, I told him. Like I said, a piece of cake.

Glad to hear it. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up; there was none of the limp relief I was feeling in his voice. Then you'd better get back to Colleen. Right away.

For the second time in fifteen minutes my heart seized up. What's happened? I demanded, on my feet and heading for the door. Is she all right?

She's fine, he said. And it may not mean anything at all... but she just called to say that the police did indeed spot a prowler when they came by a few minutes ago.

It was just as well that most of Regina's police were busy with Myers at the moment, because I broke most of the city's traffic laws getting back to Colleen's house. Every window was ablaze with light when I skidded roughly into the driveway-she must have turned on every switch in the whole house.

I'd taken her spare key along with me, but it proved unnecessary; I was still fumbling it out of my pocket when I heard the deadbolt being unlocked from the inside. A moment later I was inside, and Colleen was trembling in my arms.

Trembling hard. "What happened?" I asked, my eyes sweeping the room for signs of trouble. Nothing seemed to be out of place. "Did you see somebody?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, voice muffled in my chest. "I just-when Gordon called-and then the police came by and said someone was out there-" She took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, Dale. I'm acting like a child afraid of the dark."

"It's all right," I soothed her, feeling like a jerk. I knew she was still getting used to being isolated in the telepath shield, after all. If I hadn't left her all alone while I played private eye....

The shield.

"Come on," I said, taking her hand and heading toward the back bedroom. Calvin's speculations that Ted Green was involved with all this rose up before my eyes, and I found myself gritting my teeth as I pushed open the bedroom door.

Anticlimax. The telepath shield was right where I'd left it, humming sedately to itself. The portable shield-? I had another flash of dread, then remembered that it had spent the day in Colleen's car trunk and that it was still out there. For a moment I considered going out and bringing it in, but decided it was safe enough where it was. I reached for the light switch- And paused. On the carpet halfway to the shield, some trick of lighting angle making it visible, was a small glob of mud.

Mud from my shoes, was my first hopeful thought, from earlier this evening when I brought it in. But between the driveway and the walk and the steps I'd been on concrete the whole distance.

But there was plenty of mud just outside the back door.

It took only a few minutes of searching with angled flashlight beams to find the rest of the trail, a trail that did indeed lead straight to the back door.

"He could have killed us," Colleen whispered, trembling against me again. I didn't blame her; I was trembling some myself. "If he'd taken it-"

"I doubt he meant to," I hastened to reassure her. I didn't doubt it at all; the chances were at least even that he'd intended doing exactly that, but had been scared off by the noise of Gordy's phone call. "Did the police get a good look at him?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it." She pointed toward the back of the house. "They said he disappeared back toward the Abbotts' house-that's the white one two houses down-and that they tried to cut him off but couldn't find him. They said they'd put an extra car in the neighborhood, but that there wasn't much else they could do."

Ten years ago, I reflected sourly, when we were still big news, the Regina police department would probably have fallen all over itself trying to protect her, and like as not we'd have wound up with a ring of armed guards around the house. But all the many and varied expectations of how telepaths would make the world a better place had gradually faded away, and with the rosy glow had gone our celebrity status.

Though of course it was only our relative obscurity these days which had allowed me to sneak unheralded into Regina in the first place. The universe, I reflected, contained no unmixed blessings.

"Well, I guess that'll have to do for tonight," I told Colleen as I double-locked the door and steered her back toward the bedroom. Despite obvious efforts to the contrary, she was already starting to sag with her earlier fatigue. "But tomorrow we'll do something more useful."

She nodded, either too tired to think about asking what I had in mind or else too tired to care. I helped her into bed, turned off the light, and tiptoed out. For the next few minutes I made a circuit of the house, making sure all the windows were locked and setting various jars and other breakable glassware onto the sills, the best impromptu burglar alarm I could think of. And wondered exactly what we were going to do when morning came.

making sure all the windows were locked and setting various jars and other breakable glassware onto the sills, the best impromptu burglar alarm I could think of. And wondered exactly what we were going to do when morning came.

Colleen wouldn't like it, and I wasn't looking forward to telling her she would have to leave the city she loved, possibly for eight months, possibly longer. But I no longer saw any choice in the matter. Clearly, someone had recognized me and subsequently deduced the existence of the telepath shield, and now that somebody had seen the thing up close. If he decided to steal it, then the child Colleen was carrying was dead... because as long as she was pregnant, Colleen's life depended on having two functioning shields, one acting as backup to the other; and with one of them gone an abortion would be the only safe course of action. The migraines of the past month were abundant proof that as the fetus developed its close-approach pressures would continue to increase, almost certainly reaching lethal levels long before Colleen was ready to deliver.

And I was not going to risk losing Colleen. Period.

I finished my rounds, turning off lights as I went, and trudged back through the dark to the bedroom. By noon tomorrow we'd be gone, I decided as I lay in bed listening to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of a strange house in an unfamiliar neighborhood. We'd take the morning to throw some essentials into suitcases, and by noon we'd be on the road.

Eventually, despite the noises, my own fatigue caught up with me, and as I drifted to sleep I wondered distantly if perhaps I might be getting a little too paranoid.

I was not, in fact, paranoid enough. By noon tomorrow it was far too late.

It was nine-thirty the next morning, and I was still trying to persuade Colleen of the necessity of running, when the knock came on the front door.

For a frozen moment we just stared at each other. The knock came again; rising from the kitchen table, I moved quietly to the door. "Who is it?" I called.

The voice that answered was urbane and calm and educated. And very sure of itself. "The fact that you have to ask that question, Mr. Ravenhall," he said, "tells me all I need to know. Please open the door."

I heard a footstep as Colleen came up behind me. "Dale?-what is it?"

"Trouble," I hissed back. For a moment I hesitated; but there really wasn't anything to be gained by keeping him out. Mind scrabbling hard to come up with a new story to spin, I undid the locks and opened the door.

There were two men standing there. One, obviously the man who'd spoken, was balding and late-middle-aged, heavily wrapped up in an expensive coat and an almost visible air of authority. The second, standing a pace behind him, was much younger, with a coolness to his eyes that made me shiver.

"I think you have me confused with someone else-" I began; but practically before I'd started into my spiel the middle-aged man pulled open the storm door and walked calmly in past me, the other right behind him. So much for that approach.

"Miss Isaac." The spokesman nodded to Colleen. "Please-both of you-sit down."

"Perhaps you'd like to state your business first," I said in my best imitation of hauteur.

Silently, I stepped to Colleen's side and sat us down on the couch. My first hope, that we were dealing with overeager reporters, was gone now without a trace. Our visitor chose a chair facing us and eased himself smoothly into it, his younger companion remaining standing behind him. "Now, then," he said briskly, looking back and forth between Colleen and me. "I expect it'll save time and histrionics all around if I begin by telling you what I know. First: I know that you, Miss Isaac, are pregnant; possibly by Mr.

Ravenhall here, though I'm not absolutely certain of that. Second: the child is itself telepathic-or perhaps potentially telepathic would be a better term; it certainly isn't doing any real mind-reading at this stage of its development. Third: the only way you and the fetus can stand being this close together is because you have a device plugged into the wall back there that somehow temporarily damps out your telepathic power, which is of course also the only reason Mr. Ravenhall can be here in this room with you. Now, does that pretty well cover it?"

I felt cold all over, the lie I was struggling to create dying still-born. Or most of it, anyway. "Pretty well," I said calmly. "Except that the machine's effects aren't temporary. They're permanent."

He smiled indulgently. "Really. And you'd like me to also believe that your powers of persuasion are such that you could simply talk a killer like John Talbot Myers into giving himself up."

I glanced at the man standing silently over him, the taste of defeat in my mouth. "So it was you I was following?" He nodded once, still silent, and I shifted my eyes back to the other. "How did you arrange for Myers to be there?"

He smiled again. "I'd like to claim credit for that, but in fact it was pure happenstance. Alex here-" he gestured minutely toward the man standing over him-" was really only trying to get you out of the way for awhile so that another of my people could examine the device he saw you bring inside after your long day at the hospital."

"I hope he got a good look before the phone call scared him away," I said coldly.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Your anger is understandable, Mr. Ravenhall, but totally unnecessary. He had explicit instructions not to tamper with the device. After all-" he shrugged-"I'd hardly go to all this trouble only to lose my child."

Beside me, Colleen stiffened. "What do you mean, your child?" I demanded.

"I mean," he said softly, "that when the baby is born I'll be taking charge of it."

"Like hell you will," I said, a flash of anger hazing my vision with red. "It's Colleen's baby, and whatever arrangements are made will be up to her."

"And her sponsors?" he asked pointedly.

I frowned. "What do her sponsors have to do with it?"

He looked at Colleen. "Your monthly stipend, Miss Isaac; the money without which you would have little or no way of surviving. It comes from the University of Regina, Regina General Hospital, and the Canadian Psychiatric Institute, correct?" or no way of surviving. It comes from the University of Regina, Regina General Hospital, and the Canadian Psychiatric Institute, correct?"

His eyes came back to me. "And your funding, Mr. Ravenhall, comes from the Draper Fund for Basic Medical Research and the Iowa State University of Science and Technology. Correct?"

"You're well informed," I told him. "What's the point?"

His face hardened, just a little. "The point is that all of that money-all of it-comes from me. Not from some kindly bureaucracy or generous charity or the U.S. and Canadian taxpayers: from me. And not just yours, but all of your fellow telepaths' as well."

"What are you saying, then?" Colleen asked quietly. "That you own us?"

For a long moment he gazed thoughtfully at her. "I wanted to own you," he said at last. "And if I'd succeeded it wouldn't have been because I had to fight off the competition. Even before all the initial hype and media attention had died down, all of the hard-headed realists of this world had already come to the conclusion that your talent was far too limited to be useful. You could really only transmit words, which cut out any possibility of sending technical data or drawings cross-country; you had to get within thirty feet of your target before you could do any direct spying; and with the liberals in the legal system screaming about the Fifth Amendment you were reasonably useless for solving crimes." He smiled at me.

"At least officially. I daresay John Talbot Myers is still trying to figure out what exactly happened to him."

He sobered again. "But the most telling point of all against you was that, at least at the beginning, you were literally internationally known figures. Even now, while that recognition has slipped enough for you, Mr. Ravenhall, to walk anonymously into a night club in Regina, all the truly important people in the world would recognize you in an instant."

And at last it hit me. "And that's why you want Colleen's baby, isn't it?" I said. "Because if you can keep his existence a secret..."

"He'll be the Unknown Telepath," he finished for me. "And brought up to be totally loyal to me."

Dimly, I was aware that Colleen was pressing close to me; but at that moment all I wanted to do was wrap my hands around that neck and squeeze the satisfied look off his face. Without even thinking about it I surged to my feet

"Sit down, Mr. Ravenhall," the man told me, his voice calm but abruptly icy cold. "I don't especially need you, you know."

I broke off in mid-stride, enough of my brain functioning again through my rage to see that his stooge Alex had his right hand inside his opened jacket. Just about where the business end of a shoulder holster would be....

And then Colleen's hand darted up to grip mine in an iron vise, and my last thought of resistance evaporated. For now, at least. Taking a deep breath, I sat down again. "You'll never get away with it, you know," I told him. "Colleen and I can't just disappear without someone noticing."

He shrugged, all affability again. "There's no reason why either of you should have to disappear. Miss Isaac can stay here, certainly until her condition begins to show, after which she can take a vacation for a few months and then return. You, of course, will have to eventually head back to Des Moines."

His eyes hardened. "I don't like being called a murderer, Mr. Ravenhall," he said softly. "I like even less being called a fool. Do you think I've spent over four million dollars in the past ten years just to throw it away by killing you?"

Behind the haze of anger and helplessness, a small corner of my mind recognized that that was exactly the attitude I wanted to foster in him; but at the moment I wasn't interested in listening to reason. "If you expect some kind of future cooperation, you can forget it," I told him instead. "Not from me, not from any of the others."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," he said placidly. "You may be surprised-some of them may be more grateful for my assistance over the years than you are. Your late colleague Nelson Follstadt, for instance, was quite willing to assist me with some small experiments before his untimely death."

"Nelson was ill," Colleen said, her tone laced with contempt. "Only a bastard would take advantage of a man like that."

"I never claimed sainthood," the other said with an unconcerned shrug. "And, of course, there may be things you can do that don't require a surplus of cooperation. Sperm donor, for example-as soon as Miss Isaac delivers we can take that telepath suppressor apart and learn how to build others, and at that point the number of potential telepaths is limited only by our imagination."

"It'll be years before you get a return on your investment," Colleen reminded him. She was working hard at keeping her voice calm and reasonable, but the hand I held was stiff with emotion. "None of us developed our telepathy until adolescence; there's no reason why my baby should be otherwise."

He smiled. "I have nothing against long-term investments, Miss Isaac. You and Mr. Ravenhall are living proof of that."

"You won't get away with it," I told him, dimly aware that I'd already said that once this morning. "What's to stop us from calling the police down on you?"

He gave me an innocent look. "Down on whom? You don't even know who I am."

"You said you were funding all of us," I reminded him. "Those connections can be traced."

"Not in a hundred years of trying," he said. "Face it, Mr. Ravenhall, you can't stop me. Not even if you were so foolish as to try."

There was something in his voice that sent a chill up my back. "And what's that supposed to mean? That you're willing to lose some of your investment after all?"

"I'm always willing to do that if necessary," he said coolly. "But I'm actually not referring to myself at all here. All right; assume that you call the Mounties and relate this conversation to them. What do you suppose they'd do?"

"Throw your butt out of the country," I growled.

"Possibly, though I don't know what exactly they'd charge me with. And then?"

"You know as well as I do," he said. "The first child born to a telepath?-and the first known method to dampen telepathic abilities? You and your machine would be in secret custody somewhere in the northern Yukon within six hours. Or in Langley, if the CIA got to you first." He looked speculatively at Colleen. "Your child would disappear as soon as he was born, Miss Isaac; disappear into a Military Intelligence family, probably, so that he'd be properly prepared for the life they'd eventually put him to.

"Which is no different than the life you have planned for him now," she countered, her voice stiff.

He shrugged. "Working for me he would be in the United States, transmitting private messages or testing employees' loyalty or doing a little industrial espionage. He cocked an eyebrow. "Working for the CIA

he would be in Eastern Europe or Iran or the Soviet Union, spying on people who would most certainly torture him to death if they caught him."

Colleen didn't say anything. Neither did I. There didn't seem to be anything left to say.

Apparently, our visitor could tell that, too. "Think about it," he said, getting up from his chair and buttoning his coat. "You either accept what I'm offering, Miss Isaac, or else you suffer through what the government will do to you and your child when they find out-and they will find out; don't think for a moment you can hide it from them forever." Stepping to the door, he paused and nodded courteously. "I or one of my people will be in touch. Good day to you." He pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Alex locked eyes briefly with each of us, and then he too was gone.

And we were alone.

With an effort I unclenched my jaw. Colleen was still pressed tightly against me; bracing myself, I turned my head to look at her. "I'm sorry, Colleen," I said quietly.

She lifted her eyes to mine... and even as I watched, I could see the fear and hopelessness and near-panic in her face began to fade. Into a simmering anger. "He won't get my child, Dale," she said, her voice a flat monotone that I found more unnerving than a scream of rage would have been. "I'll die before I'll let him have my child."

My mind flashed to that horrible scene at Rathbun Lake, the frozen tableau of Colleen facing down Ted Green with a knife pressed against her stomach. "It won't come to that," I told her through suddenly dry lips. "We'll find another way. I promise."

She blinked away tears. "I know," she whispered.

She didn't say it like she believed it, but that was hardly surprising: I didn't really believe it myself. If even half of what our visitor had said was true, we were up against frightening amounts of money and power, and I couldn't even begin to imagine how we could hide Colleen from such power for the next eight months.

But I'd find a way. I had to. More than anyone else I'd ever known, Colleen had a solid sense of what things in this world were worth dying for; and at Rathbun Lake she'd proved she had the courage and will to carry such convictions out.

One way or another, she wouldn't be giving her child up into slavery.

We can try, I agreed. He didn't seem to think it likely we'd succeed.

Yeah, well, let's not take his word for it, okay? Gordy said bitterly. You seem to be taking all this pretty calmly.

Only because I've had two days to get used to it, I told him shortly. And because Colleen and I have had time to think and plan. You see- I hope you didn't do your planning in the house, Gordy interrupted me. Your lousy child-snatching-Fagin pal probably had the place bugged.

Don't worry, we figured that, too, I assured him. We did all our discussions in writing, most of it at night in bed with a small flashlight. And we burned the papers afterwards and flushed the pieces down the toilet.

All in the best traditions of TV cop shows, Gordy growled.

You want to listen to this or not? The thing is, we've come to the conclusion that our Fagin pal, as you call him, isn't nearly as all-powerful here as he'd like us to believe. Whatever the size and scope of his business or organization or whatever, he's throwing only a tiny fraction of it our way.

Maybe that's what he wants you to believe, Calvin suggested. Maybe he's just trying to lull you into a false sense of security.

Why? Underplaying it makes no sense-he wants us to knuckle under, remember? To give up and let him have his way.

Then you're reading it wrong, Gordy concluded sourly. He'd have to be an idiot not to throw in everything he's got.

Which is exactly my point, I said. He is throwing in everything he can; but that isn't very much.

From Calvin came a sudden flash of understanding. Ah-ha, he said. Of course. He can only use the people he can trust completely, because everything turns on his keeping the baby's existence a secret.

At least until it's born, I agreed. After that he can spirit the child away, and even if the world finds out there's an unknown telepath on the loose they still won't know what he looks like and he'll be difficult or impossible to track down. But until then, everything's got to be kept secret, or the media will descend on Colleen and he'll have lost his chance.

Then that solves our problem, Gordy said. We call a news conference- And have Colleen vanish into some secret government stronghold after all the hysteria fades a little?

Gordy's surge of satisfaction faded. Maybe we can bluff him with it anyway, he suggested, more doubtfully. Tell him that he either backs off, or we blow the whistle and the hell with the consequences.

Gordy's surge of satisfaction faded. Maybe we can bluff him with it anyway, he suggested, more doubtfully. Tell him that he either backs off, or we blow the whistle and the hell with the consequences.

That's what we hoped he'd think, I agreed. Which is why we waited this long for me to leave. To make sure Fagin's watchdogs didn't think I was heading out somewhere to whistle up the Marines.

For you to-wait a minute, Dale, where are you?

On Trans-Canada One, heading east.

There was a moment of stunned silence. You're leaving her? Gordy asked, something darkly unpleasant bubbling beneath the surface of the words. Just like that? Leaving her stuck all alone, with maybe one of Fagin's Neanderthals watching the house-?

Oh, I'm sure someone's watching the house, I told him grimly. Otherwise, Colleen could just pack up the shield and make a run for it. As it is, with the thing as bulky as it is-and with the garage unattached from the house-anyone watching the house would see her in plenty of time to go take her by the hand and lead her back inside.

Like I said-trapped in the house, Gordy all but snarled. Damn it all, Dale- And that's where they've finally made a mistake, I cut him off. Colleen can leave Regina any time she wants to. Fagin doesn't know about the second shield.

Gordy's growing tirade cut off in mid-accusation. He doesn't know about it? he asked, sounding incredulous. How on God's earth did he miss something like that?

I don't know, exactly, I admitted. Best guess is that he simply never thought to look. Presumably his local people picked up on Colleen's pregnancy while she was undergoing all those tests at the hospital and tailed us home. They would have seen me haul the line-current model into the house, but I never got around to taking the portable one out of Colleen's trunk that night. By morning Fagin was in town and giving us his big pitch, so of course we just left it where it was.

And it's still there? Calvin asked.

If it weren't, I wouldn't be having this conversation, I said, and despite myself felt a shiver run up my back. Before I left this morning I took Amos's magic kernels out of the line-current shield.

You what? Dale- Gordy broke off, the texture of his thoughts more confused than anything else. Too many shocks in too short a time, I decided, and for a few minutes I drove on in silence, listening to the background clutter and giving them time to assimilate all of it. We seem to be running about two steps behind you, Dale, Calvin said at last. Why don't we shut up and let you give us the rest of it.

I sighed. There's not much more to tell. The day after tomorrow-in the late afternoon, around sundown-Colleen will drive off as if going to the little mall around the corner from her house, and will just keep going. By then Rob Peterson will hopefully have had time to put together a new shield with the kernels I scavenged from the old one, and I'll head west to rendezvous with her. We'll hide her someplace where she'll be safe for the next eight months, get Scott and Lisa working on finding an adoption family when the time comes... and that will hopefully be that.

keep going. By then Rob Peterson will hopefully have had time to put together a new shield with the kernels I scavenged from the old one, and I'll head west to rendezvous with her. We'll hide her someplace where she'll be safe for the next eight months, get Scott and Lisa working on finding an adoption family when the time comes... and that will hopefully be that.

If you've got a better idea, let's hear it, I snapped. We've got between six and nine days now until the new batteries we put in the portable shield run out, and it'll take at least half a day for us to reach our rendezvous point. We simply don't have the time to set up anything more elaborate.

So we've got until tomorrow night, Gordy said, his tone oddly dark. Fine. Give me until then to come up with something, okay?

I suppose I should have expected something like that, but the offer took me by surprise anyway. Calvin, who knew Gordy better than I did, was somewhat faster on the uptake. We can't risk it, Gordy, he told the other. Suppose Fagin is having you watched? Or has access to airline reservation computers?

I have a friend who's a private pilot, he said stubbornly. She can fly me up there without anyone knowing where I've gone.

Fagin could check on the flight plan, I pointed out, feelings of resentment stirring within me. This was our war, not his- She can file a false flight plan, Gordy insisted. She'll know how to pull something like that off.

And then she's in the hot seat, too, huh? I growled... but I could see now that it was a losing battle.

Gordy was determined to put his oar in here; with our blessing if possible, without it if necessary.

Calvin saw it, too. I don't suppose there's really any way we can stop you, he conceded. Just remember that if you tip Colleen's hand there won't be any second chances.

Even seven hundred miles away in Spokane I could feel Gordy's shudder. I'll remember, he said softly.

There was little enough time to spare, and I drove straight through the day, arriving in Des Moines just after one in the morning. On the way into town I stopped at a phone booth-I wasn't about to trust my home phone-and gave Rob Peterson a call. He was great; didn't ask any questions, just promised to be at my house at ten with all the equipment he'd need to put together a new telepath shield.

He was there on time, and I left him working while I returned the van to the rental agency. One of the employees drove me home, and on the way I had him do a leisurely drive around the block. If Fagin had anyone watching my house, I didn't pick him up. More evidence that he was running this on a shoestring.... if, of course, I was reading the signs right. Given my recent record, I wouldn't have bet a lot on it.

It took me only a couple of hours to pack the stuff Colleen and I would need for our getaway, and after that I had little to do except worry. A little before noon Gordy arrived in Regina-apparently unnoticed by Fagin's friends-and spent the afternoon poking around town on errands he wouldn't discuss with either Calvin or me. I tried pressing him for information once or twice, but it was obvious he wasn't going to give me any, and by early afternoon I gave up the effort. Leaving Calvin to keep an eye on him, I settled down to wait, dividing my attention between worrying and watching Rob work. The worrying was what I did best.

give me any, and by early afternoon I gave up the effort. Leaving Calvin to keep an eye on him, I settled down to wait, dividing my attention between worrying and watching Rob work. The worrying was what I did best.

The background clutter-as well as Calvin's and Rob's thoughts-vanished. Getting into my car, I headed slowly down the street, and within a few minutes had confirmed that it did indeed have the same half-mile range as the model I'd left with Colleen. I reported to Calvin and drove back home, watching for parked cars with Fagin's watchdogs sitting in them. Again, if they were there, I couldn't spot them.

Rob was waiting just inside the door when I pulled up. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "Does it work?"

"Like a champ," I told him, clapping him on the shoulder and stepping over to where the mass of wires and chips and Amos's enigmatic kernels was sitting on the kitchen table. "You did great, Rob. Especially given that you'd never actually done this before."

He shrugged modestly. "Yeah, but remember I examined the stuffing out of the thing last month. Now if I could just figure out how Amos made those kernels we'd be in real business."

I nodded and flipped the off switch-And an instant later my head filled with a din of shouting. Dale! Are you there? Dale-!

I'm here, Calvin, I said, the skin on my neck crawling. There was a note of near-panic in that tone-What's wrong?

Gordy's gone in, he said, and behind the words I could visualize clenched teeth. The minute you confirmed the range and headed back home, he disappeared.

God in heaven-He can't do that, I said, reflexively looking at my watch. It would be just about sundown in Regina, exactly the time we'd planned for her to make her break... except that Gordy was twenty-four hours early. What in hell's name does he think he's doing? Colleen won't be ready yet.

I don't know, Calvin hesitated. But I think he may be up to something desperate. He's been... really brooding about this.

Which I'd been too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice? But it was too late to worry about that now.

Did he tell you the name of his pilot friend?

Yes-Jean Forster. Why?-you think she's involved in some way?

She's at least involved to the extent that she got him there, I reminded him grimly. It might be a good idea to call the Regina airport and try to warn her about Fagin's goon squad- And with a suddenness I wasn't prepared for, Gordy was back. Calvin, Dale-listen.

I didn't get a chance to ask what it was he wanted us to listen to... but an instant later I got the answer anyway. As from deep in a well, I heard an angry voice. Get out here, you son of a bitch. God damn it-look what you did to my car.

Knock it off, Billy. The second man's voice was hard and calm and authoritative, and Billy shut up.

There's no real harm done. It was pretty stupid, you know, he continued, talking to Gordy now. We had orders to stop anyone we caught trying to take anything big out of the house-and that included garbage men. Take a look in back, Billy-make sure the thing's there.

Billy's silhouette nodded and headed obediently off to the left, and as Gordy turned to watch him I saw that they were indeed standing beside a small garbage truck. Briefly, I wondered how Gordy had gotten hold of it. Yeah, it's here, I heard Billy call. Uh... shouldn't we be getting on the phone and getting Harry on the trail?

What for? the other asked calmly. She'll be back. Any minute now, probably.

Yeah, but if she didn't see him crash our car-?

The other man turned to face Billy's returning figure; and once again, Billy shut up. She probably didn't, he agreed quietly. So what?

Oh. Right. Billy nodded belated understanding. The headaches'll start up again. That'll tell her he didn't get away.

And I don't think she'll miss the implications, the other agreed. He turned, and I got the feeling he was peering down the street, looking for Colleen's returning car. Though on second thought... come here; watch this guy for a minute.

Billy's silhouette replaced his in front of Gordy, and he stepped over to a nearby car and leaned in the open door. He emerged with something in his hand, which he did something to and then held to the side of his head. A cellular phone, probably. Harry? Warfield. Listen. I want you to cruise south down Albert Street to the highway-see if our pigeon has gone off the road somewhere... No, I want you to leave her there-of course you bring her back home, damn it; we can go back and get her car later.

Warfield reached in and hung up... and suddenly I sensed Gordy's mind tensing as he prepared for action. She'll be back, Warfield said, straightening up to face Gordy again. Unconscious, maybe-probably with one hell of a headache-but she'll be back.

No.

The word seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment I could sense Warfield and Billy staring at him.

What do you mean, no? Warfield asked, his voice calm but with menace beneath it.

I felt my fingernails digging into my palms as I clenched my fists in agonized helplessness. God, he was going to ruin everything-it was far too soon to spill the fact that Colleen had her own telepath shield. I wanted to scream at him to shut up; but it was too late, he'd already said too much, and sooner or later now they'd have the rest of it. Impotent fury bubbled up inside me, turning my stomach inside out. All my worry and planning... and with a single word Gordy had betrayed it all. I said, what did you mean, 'no,'

Warfield demanded again, taking a step toward Gordy. I braced myself- now they'd have the rest of it. Impotent fury bubbled up inside me, turning my stomach inside out. All my worry and planning... and with a single word Gordy had betrayed it all. I said, what did you mean, 'no,'

Warfield demanded again, taking a step toward Gordy. I braced myself- It was probably the sheer unexpectedness of it that let him get away with it; with the telepath shield out of quick reach at the bottom of the garbage truck and with Colleen still well within the close-approach death zone, Gordy had literally nowhere to run, and both his captors surely knew that. But unexpected or not, Warfield clearly had good reflexes. Even before Gordy reached the back of the truck I could hear the sudden scraping of feet on pavement that showed the chase was on. Where the hell did Gordy think he was going-?

An instant later I found out. Gordy skidded to an abrupt stop at the rear of the garbage truck, threw a wild punch to Keep Warfield back-And slammed down the compression lever. The sudden growl of the motor drowned out Warfield's startled exclamation; but Gordy's reply was only too clear. I'm taking Colleen the one place your filthy boss can't reach us, he shouted.

You stupid bastard, Warfield yelled over the grinding of the hydraulic crusher jaws. He leaped forward, grabbing Gordy by the shoulders and trying to force him away from the lever. But Gordy held his ground, wrapping his arms around the other.

And then the crusher hit metal, grinding away against the angle iron holding the telepath shield together...

and, abruptly, as if by mutual consent, both men stopped their struggling. The grinding stopped, and I could see Warfield's silhouette draw back in confusion. What the hell?

Gordy looked slowly back at the garbage truck, as if not believing what he was seeing. It... can't be, he said, and even through the tunnel effect I could hear the bewilderment in his voice. We agreed-if I didn't get away- He broke off, and I could just hear the electronic warbling of the car phone. Gordy glanced over that way, and I saw Billy reach in for the phone. Get away from there, Warfield ordered Gordy abruptly, shoving him away from the lever. Must not have busted the thing all the way- Hey! Billy called, his voice odd. It's Harry, C'mere-you gotta hear this.

Warfield took Gordy's arm and marched him toward the car. What is it?

Harry found her car, Billy said, and now I could identify the emotion in his voice. Disbelief. It's down by the lake. Next to a spot where it isn't all frozen.

For a long moment Warfield just stared at him. Then, taking a long stride forward, he snatched the phone from Billy's hand.

Dale? Calvin? You both listening.

With a conscious effort, I unclenched my teeth. We're both here, Gordy. What's-where's Colleen?

On her way out of town in a car I rented and left at the lake, he said. She'll meet you at the rendezvous you set up.

Get out of there, Calvin put in, his voice urgent. Now. Before they remember you're still there.

Sorry, but I can't. Gordy's voice was calm... but beneath it I could feel a tightness. A tightness, and the winding up of courage; and over all or it, a strangely wistful sadness.

And suddenly I realized that Gordy was preparing himself to die.

Calvin's right, I snarled. Colleen's in the clear-get out of there.

I can't, he said again, and this time there was an edge to it. I have to make sure they're convinced that she would rather die than give up her child to that kind of slavery, and that once the game was up that she would commit suicide rather than let me kill both of us. And they're not going to want me around to testify after that.

I bit hard at my lip, searching frantically for a way to convince him... and then my brain seemed to catch, and I cursed my stupidity. Calvin-get on the phone, I ordered. Call the Regina police, tell them there's a kidnapping in progress. Where are you, Gordy?

A flicker of hope, the realization that maybe he wouldn't have to sacrifice himself after all-The corner of Fourteenth Avenue and Roe Street- And suddenly Warfield spun around, his brain apparently catching, as well. God damn it, he snarled viciously, hand jabbing at Gordy. Billy-take him out. Now, damn it.

Here it comes, Gordy said, and there was no longer any tension in his tone. Just a quiet acceptance.

Goodbye. Tell Colleen that I love her- And then a shadow swung at his head, and the image was gone.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring at nothing and listening to the silence where Gordy had been. Gradually, I became aware that there was a hand on my arm. Blinking my eyes against a painful dryness, I found Rob gazing at me, his thoughts highly worried. "I'm all right," I told him. Even to myself my voice sounded dead.

He didn't believe it, of course. "Anything I can do to help?"

I shook my head. Calvin?

Here, Dale. I've got through to the Regina police, and they're sending a car. He hesitated. I also told them about Colleen's car, and hinted that we suspected suicide.

Yeah. It felt wrong, somehow, to maintain the lie; but if we didn't, then Gordy's sacrifice would have been for nothing. You think they realized he was lying?

I'm sure they didn't, Calvin assured me. I think it just suddenly penetrated that with the shield supposedly destroyed he could get through to us again. They couldn't afford that.

It made sense. The game was lost, as far as they knew, and their first priority now would be to cover their tracks. What the hell's keeping those cops?

Take it easy, Dale-it's only been a couple of minutes.

I sighed. I'm sorry. I just....

Dale? The police have arrived on the scene, but there's no one there. Just the garbage truck.

Of course there's no one there, I said savagely. They wouldn't just leave him there for the cops to- I don't know why it clicked just then. But it did... and suddenly my grief vanished into a surge of adrenaline. He's not dead, I told Calvin. Of course he's not-what kind of an idiot am I?

Dale, I know it's hard- No, listen! I cut him off. Listen! They wouldn't just kill him like that-Fagin would have their heads on poles. He'd want to question Gordy and make sure he was telling them the truth about Colleen.

For a long moment Calvin thought about that, and despite his determination not to build up false hope I could sense a growing excitement. You may be right, he agreed. In which case we should send the police to the airport, try and head them off.

Yes-no. Wait a minute, let me think. Something Fagin had said... He knew Nelson, I told Calvin.

Probably pretty well-he mentioned once that Nelson had done some experiments for him. Maybe the Las Vegas stuff that Amos caught onto.

Maybe, Calvin allowed cautiously, wondering with a distinct undercurrent of uneasiness just where I was headed with this. So what does that tell us?

I grinned humorlessly, my lips tight enough to hurt. It tells us, I told him, that for the first time since Nelson tried to kill me, he's going to do something useful.

Calvin said something cautionary sounding, but I didn't wait to hear it. All my thoughts and senses were turned inward as I searched out that part of my personality which had come from my close-approach with Nelson. It was all still there, of course: the greed, the arrogance, the deception, the contempt for mankind in general and his fellow telepaths in particular. Everything I'd fought so hard and for so long to bury was right there, just waiting against the barriers I'd painfully erected against it.

I thought about Gordy and Colleen... and let the barriers fall.

And nothing happened. Nothing at all. The Nelson part didn't surge out like poison gas under pressure; didn't flow out like an attacking army bent on destruction; didn't gloat, didn't cheer, didn't rage. It was just there, like nothing more or less than a memory. A dark memory, to be sure, full of pain and anger and terror; but a memory nonetheless.

It was perhaps the greatest surprise of a long day of surprises, that the very thing I'd feared so much for so many months would in fact turn out to be so utterly powerless. Perhaps it was just the healing effects of time; perhaps that deadly confrontation at Rathbun Lake had been the killing blow, only I hadn't realized it.

I was whole again.

And there it was. Calvin? I got it. Fagin's name is Lawrence Barringer, and he's based somewhere in the Los Angeles area.

Got it, Calvin said. His emotions were masked, but it wasn't hard to guess that he was wondering what that information had cost me. You want to call the LA police, or should I?

No one's calling any police. Not yet, anyway.

What? Dale, he's got Gordy, remember?

No, he doesn't-and that's the whole point, I told him. His goons have Gordy; and they're hardly likely to drag him to Barringer's house and dump him on the living room rug. They'll take him to some out-of-the way place and question him there.

I felt Calvin's shiver. You think they'll... torture him?

My stomach turned, and for a long moment I dug again into Nelson's memories, searching for more details of Barringer's personality. They were there, all right; but even as I sifted through them it suddenly occurred to me that nothing I found here could be taken at face value. Colored as it all had been by Nelson's own warped mentality, there was no way for me to sort out objective fact from wishful or even malicious fantasy.

But I had to try. Okay, here it is. From what Nelson knew about Barringer he was an absolute fanatic for secrecy in his activities. He'd rather take extra time and make sure he's not being watched or monitored than rush into something and find out later that the whole thing's been captured on tape. Given that-and given that they'll assume we'll call the cops in-my guess is that they'll sedate Gordy and drive him out of town, contacting Barringer from someplace reasonably distant. He'll send a private plane for them, again rendezvousing somewhere away from Regina, and fly them leisurely down to some quiet spot near Los Angeles where they hopefully won't be disturbed. That make any sense to you?

Calvin pondered it. I suppose so, he agreed, almost reluctantly. There really isn't any rush, after all-if Colleen's alive he's got eight months to track her down. You think Barringer will want to be in on the questioning?

Yes. On that score I had no doubt at all. Absolutely. He wouldn't trust it to anyone else, for one thing.

And that's where we're going to nail him.

Wonderful-except for one small problem, Calvin pointed out heavily. Namely, we don't know where this quiet spot is that they're going to take him. Unless, he interrupted himself with a sudden surge of excitement, your friend Bob can put Amos's old telepath-detector back together. If he can- Sorry. I'd already had that idea, and found the flaw in it. The kernels he would need for that are already being used.

In the second shield; right, Calvin said, the excitement evaporating. In that case, I don't see that we have any choices left, Dale. We have to call in the police and ask them to put a tail on Barringer.

If we don't, he snarled with uncharacteristic harshness, we lose him to Barringer. Or don't you think he'll be able to make Gordy talk?

Yes, I'm sure he will. I took a deep breath. As a matter of fact... I'm rather counting on it.

It took Calvin nearly an hour of phoning to track down Jean Forster, Gordy's pilot friend, and ask for her help. Five hours later, just after midnight, she called me to announce that she and her twin-engine Beechcraft were at the Des Moines airport. An hour after that, we were airborne.

In many ways it was yet another echo of that desperate race to Regina only a few days earlier, and I found many of the same black thoughts swirling around and through my mind as we flew westward.

Suspended between land and sky, the occasional concentration of town and city lights below clumping like distorted fun-house mirror images of the stars above, the sense of unreality was even stronger than it had been then.

As was the sense of desperate danger.

I died a thousand deaths that night. At least that many. I'd put on a good front when selling this whole scheme to Calvin, but I knew all too well that a hundred things could go wrong. If I'd read Barringer wrong-if he broke his pattern and decided that speed was more important than caution-then Gordy would be in Los Angeles and the interrogation over and done with long before we got anywhere near the scene.

And even if everything went exactly according to plan, it could still go bad. Horribly bad.

I was able to doze a couple of those long hours away, but mostly I spent the night wide awake, staring out the window at nothing in particular and wondering if I should just give up and abort this whole crazy plan. Colleen had a good head start; with luck, perhaps we could bury ourselves so deeply that even Barringer couldn't find us. And he surely wouldn't be stupid enough to hurt Gordy, no matter what happened.

It was a private battle I fought over and over again that night; and it was Jean Forster's presence beside me, more than anything else, that helped me push back the temptation each time it surfaced. From the beginning I'd had reservations about bringing her into this, and had given in mainly because there hadn't been any other choice; but ten minutes of sitting next to her in a cramped cockpit had laid every one of those reservations to rest. She was smart, competent, tough, and fiercely loyal to the small and select group of people she named as her friends. Just getting me this far had required her to litter our flight path with a half dozen broken FAA regulations, and she knew full well that her license was the least of what she was putting at risk tonight.

In many ways she reminded me of Colleen... and it wasn't hard to guess what both of them would say if I suggested abandoning Gordy now.

And so we headed west, swinging a bit northward to avoid getting too close to Calvin in Pueblo. We stopped once for refueling at a field Jean knew outside of Grand Junction... and finally, with local sunrise still half an hour away, we came in sight of the sea of lights that was Los Angeles.

For a few minutes-a few long, long minutes-there was nothing. I sat watching the city lights, sweating as I strained for a contact and fought back the fears and terrors swirling around me. We'd gambled, and we'd lost. Barringer had held the interrogation in Canada, or had flown Gordy here five hours ago, or had simply killed him to cover his tracks. Jean eased the plane a bit to the left, heading southwest toward the southern edge of the city- For a few minutes-a few long, long minutes-there was nothing. I sat watching the city lights, sweating as I strained for a contact and fought back the fears and terrors swirling around me. We'd gambled, and we'd lost. Barringer had held the interrogation in Canada, or had flown Gordy here five hours ago, or had simply killed him to cover his tracks. Jean eased the plane a bit to the left, heading southwest toward the southern edge of the city- Gordy.

Calvin? Calvin, wake up.

Here, Dale, Calvin replied with an alertness that showed he hadn't been asleep. What is it?

I've got him. And he's still unconscious.

I could feel Calvin's cautious relief. Which means they haven't started on him yet. I hope.

Yeah. Me, too. Muscles I hadn't even realized were tight were starting to relax. We'd gambled, and we'd won. Barringer had gone with the leisurely, secure approach, after all, and we'd beaten him to the punch.

Have you heard from Rob yet, by the way?

Five minutes ago, as a matter of fact, Calvin said. He made it to Colleen's hideout and gave her the second shield, and she's on her way to wherever it is you two planned for her to go. I didn't want to wake you if you were trying to sleep.

So Colleen, at least, was safe. One down, one to go. I took a deep breath- And in a single instant the muscles tightened again. "Oh, my God," I whispered.

At least I thought I'd whispered it. Jean heard anyway. "What?" she snapped.

I forced my teeth to unclench. "He got stronger. Much too strong, much too fast. They're waking him up."

Take it easy, Calvin said, glacially calm. It's bound to take them a few minutes to bring him up to where he can answer questions for them.

"You want me to radio the police?" Jean called.

"Can't yet," I told her, willing some of Calvin's calm to flow into me. "We still don't know where he is."

Gordy? I called. Gordy, can you hear me?

There was no response... but even as I strained I could tell our direction was correct. He was somewhere south of Los Angeles, and we were now heading straight toward him.

Straight toward him. As Nelson had flown straight toward me....

I shook my head to clear it. "We're going in," I called to Jean. "You remember the plan?"

She nodded. "You want belt or arm?"

"Belt," I said, reaching over to hook the fingers of my left hand into her belt. I'd rather have held her arm, but I couldn't trust myself not to tug it the wrong direction at a critical moment. Already I could feel the pressure building in my mind as we flew toward Gordy.

"Belt," I said, reaching over to hook the fingers of my left hand into her belt. I'd rather have held her arm, but I couldn't trust myself not to tug it the wrong direction at a critical moment. Already I could feel the pressure building in my mind as we flew toward Gordy.

The pressure was growing steadily stronger, its edges becoming tinged with a red haze I remembered all too vividly. The fuzziness that was Gordy's unconscious mind was becoming ever clearer, and I could feel the first wisps of pain as the surfaces of our minds began to merge....

Dale? Calvin's thought was dim and faraway, a scream almost lost in a hurricane. Can you hear me?

Dale?

I could hear him-just barely-but I couldn't answer. My mind was bending now, molding itself against Gordy's even as his bent against mine. Setting my teeth together, I fought against the pain, hunting amid the din of two minds clashing for the information I desperately needed. The darkness in Gordy's mind seemed to be lifting; with all my strength I tried to reach through it. To search beyond him- And with a suddenness that made me gasp, I had it. Four men stood around him, one of them leaning close to his face. Reaching through Gordy's mind was a blaze of pain; fighting it back, I pressed harder.

Through the man's eyes I saw Gordy, lying motionless on an ambulance-type stretcher; through his ears I heard the sounds of distant surf and even more distant traffic. And through his mind

"Oc-Oceanside," I gasped. "They're in... Oceanside."

Dimly, I felt a hand shaking my shoulder, heard a voice shouting in my ear. "-address? Come on, Dale-give me the address."

I pulled the street and house number from the other's mind and choked them out; and then the pain was too much, and I fell back. Gordy's mind was growing clearer by the minute

"Gordon Sears," a voice said into my mind-into Gordy's mind. "Can you hear me?"

A moment of silence. I wondered vaguely if Gordy, half asleep as he was, could feel the pain I was feeling. Wondered if it would keep him from answering, or would instead go the other way, sapping any strength he might have to resist them. "Yes," Gordy answered, the word coming first through his mind and then through his ears.

And then through my ears, as I repeated it aloud? Maybe. I couldn't tell for sure.

"Good," the voice came again through Gordy's mind. "Listen to me, Gordon-listen closely. I will ask you some questions and you will answer them. You will tell me the truth; because I'm your friend, and I'm Colleen Isaac's friend, and her life depends on your telling me the truth. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," Gordy said again. His voice was dreamy, just like his mind. I wondered what kind of drug they'd used on him, but I was too afraid of the pain to touch the stranger through Gordy's mind again.

"Excellent, Gordy," the voice said. "Then tell me where Colleen Isaac is."

I could feel Gordy's mind fighting against the drug. "Gordy?" the voice asked again; and this time there was a hard edge to it. "Gordy, where is Colleen Isaac? Where is she?"

I could feel Gordy's mind fighting against the drug. "Gordy?" the voice asked again; and this time there was a hard edge to it. "Gordy, where is Colleen Isaac? Where is she?"

But Gordy's mind was not his alone anymore... and I had none of their poison in my body. "She's dead,"

I murmured, and heard the echo in my mind as Gordy's mouth obediently repeated the words. "She died... in Regina. In the lake. To... save me."

"She's not dead!" a new voice shouted. Barringer's voice. "She can't be dead, damn it-she can't be.

Where is she?"

"She's dead," I said again, and an involuntary sob escaped our lips. The pain was a red haze over our mind, and I felt our fingers trembling in Jean's belt. We could let go, and she would pull up and take us away from the pain. But it was still too soon. Still too soon.

Barringer was screaming something else, but we could hardly hear him. All around us was the din of two minds wrenching against each other.... "She's dead," we said once more. "She told me... she would rather die than lose her baby to... anyone."

And suddenly the screaming was gone. We tried to listen through the noise, to hear what was going on; but the noise was too loud. The noise, and the pain....

"Dale? Dale!"

I blinked; blinked again as I realized there were tears in my eyes. That voice... and the pain was almost gone. And it was only me. "Wha-?" I croaked. There was no echo.... "Jean?"

"It's okay, Dale," she said, and I could hear the almost limp relief in her voice. "God, for a while I thought we were going to lose you. To lose both of you."

Abruptly, I realized my fingers were still wedged in her belt. "Where are we? Wait a minute-we can't leave-"

"It's okay-it's okay," she soothed me. "The cops are there. Nailed Barringer and his goons red-handed.

Soon as they radioed that they'd got him, I took off." She leaned forward to frown at me, and I heard the question in her mind. "Is-I mean, did it work?"

I took a deep breath. "He should be fine," I told her, answering the question she'd wanted to ask. We were heading east, now, heading back home. Ahead, the sky over the mountains was red with the approaching sunrise.

And the long night was over.

"It's not the Hilton," Colleen said, waving a hand around the two-room cabin, "but it's home."

"For the next few months at least," I agreed, looking out the window at the snow-covered mountains and trying hard not to think of how isolated she was going to be out here. "Certainly a great spot to get away from it all."

"There's room for two," she said.

I turned to see her gazing at me, her forehead wrinkled with concern. "Thanks, but I can't," I told her. "If I disappeared for too long someone would start to wonder if you really weren't dead, after all. It would be a shame to blow a perfectly good lie like that."

I turned to see her gazing at me, her forehead wrinkled with concern. "Thanks, but I can't," I told her. "If I disappeared for too long someone would start to wonder if you really weren't dead, after all. It would be a shame to blow a perfectly good lie like that."

"Colleen." I turned to face her and took her hands in mine. "It's over. Okay? Over and done with, and both Gordy and I are fine. Really."

"But the flashbacks-"

"Will go away," I reminded her. "Remember, I've been through this once before. Nelson's attack isn't much more than a bad memory now, and he and I got much closer together than Gordy and I did."

She nodded. Squeezing my hands, she let go and stepped over to stare out one of the windows. "I just...

it's still going to weigh on my conscience, Dale. Neither of you is going to ever be quite the same again, and all because of me. I'm sorry if that sounds silly, but that's how I feel."

"Doesn't sound silly at all," I assured her. "Tell me, Colleen: who is that baby you're carrying?"

She turned to frown at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's part you and part me, right? I mean, that's where he came from."

The frown was still there. "I don't understand what you're driving at."

I sighed. "We're all unique, Colleen, but at the same time most of who we are ultimately comes from other people. Not just our parents' genes-all of us, all our lives, are continually influenced by those around us. Our politics are molded by politicians and commentators, our tastes are influenced by our job or station in life... and we're forever exchanging styles and traits and interests and catch phrases with our friends." I shrugged. "It just happened that with Nelson and Gordy I got an accelerated version of the process."

She thought about that for a moment. "What about Barringer?" she asked.

Which meant the subject was closed, at least for now. Which was fine with me. I knew she'd think about it, and eventually realize I was right. "He's going to be far too busy treading legal water to bother us for awhile," I told her. "There are half a dozen charges pending, up to and including kidnapping, and when the locals are done with him Canada's waiting to take their shot."

"But if they know Gordy was taken from Regina-?" She threw me a questioning look.

I nodded, a slightly sour taste in my mouth. "There really wasn't any way to hide the existence of the shield from them any longer. The Regina police retrieved what was left of the one Gordy crushed in the garbage truck, and the simple fact that you two were together proved that you'd had some way to beat the close-approach limits."

"Then all this was for nothing.

I put my arm around her shoulders. "Not in the least. We saved you and our child from being snatched away into some form of slavery, didn't we? You call that nothing?"

I put my arm around her shoulders. "Not in the least. We saved you and our child from being snatched away into some form of slavery, didn't we? You call that nothing?"

"It would have been nice if we could have kept the shield a secret," I conceded gently. "But to be perfectly honest, Gordy and I would have had to be fools to risk our lives for a machine. It's the people in this world that are important, Colleen-don't forget that. Not that a person as caring as you are is ever likely to. Must be why I love you so much.

"And speaking of love and people," I added briskly, squeezing her shoulders and stepping away, "grab your coat. I've got a surprise for you.

She blinked at me, sniffling back some tears. "What kind of surprise?"

"A nice one," I assured her, picking my own coat off the couch. "Something I stumbled on more or less by accident on the way in. Come on-and don't forget your hat and mittens."

We bundled up, and I led the way out into the frosty mountain air. In front of the cabin the snow-packed dirt road sloped gently upward, peaking at a cut in the mountains before sloping down toward the small mountain village a few miles away. I led us along the road for a few minutes; and suddenly Colleen, huffing along a step behind me, grabbed my arm. "Wait a minute, Dale, we can't go any farther. The edge of the shield-"

"Is right there," I pointed at a pair of branches sticking up out of the snow beside the road ten yards ahead. "Just don't pass the sticks there... and say hi to Calvin for me."

She stared at me. "What are you talking about? The shield's edge isn't sharp enough for me to do that."

"Agreed," I nodded. "One shield's edge isn't that sharp. But if you put two of them in line about a foot apart-we can mark the spots on your floor when we get back-and kind of lean forward, just a little, it turns out that you can stick your head far enough out for you to have limited communication without the baby knowing a thing about it. Go ahead-I tried it on the way in, and Calvin's waiting."

She didn't say anything; just threw her arms around me and hugged me close for a minute. Then, straightening, she walked tentatively toward my markers, head and shoulders hunched slightly forward.

And then, abruptly, she stopped... and I thought I'd never seen such a look of pure joy.

There was still a long road ahead of her, and much of it would be hard. But at least now she wouldn't have to travel it alone.

For a moment I watched her. Then, shivering with the cold, I turned away. There was, I'd noticed, a pile of boards stacked in the rear of the cabin, as well as a complete tool kit, a spare sleeping pad, and an extra Coleman heater. With a little judicious hammering and some careful positioning, I ought to be able to put together quite a cozy little shelter for her up at the edge of the shield. I had the distinct feeling she'd be spending a lot of time out here over the next few months.

I walked back to the cabin, and got to work.