Dar wondered about the “usually.”

“Well, we have a bit of a practical problem ourselves, at the moment, Father—and you seem to be familiar with the planet.”

“But not native—as I’m sure you could tell by my size.” Father Marco was only a little on the stout side.

“Yes, and that’s our problem—we’re not native, and we would like to get on with our trip.”

“And the last freighter left orbit a few days ago.” Father Marco nodded. “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much you can do just now—especially with the I.D.E. police sealing off the planet.”

“Doing what?”

“Sealing off the planet,” Father Marco said mildly. “You hadn’t heard? It was on the newsfax just a few minutes ago. The Interstels had a reliable tip that a telepath came in on the last ship, so they’ve forbidden anyone to leave the planet while they search for him.”

“Well,” Sam said slowly, “that does kind of delay us, doesn’t it?”

Dar frowned. “What’s this telepath done?”

Father Marco shrugged. “Nothing, so far as I know. At least, nothing was said about it.”

“Then, why are they searching for him?”

“You don’t know?” Father Marco asked in mild surprise. “Why, telepaths are a menace to everything any right-thinking citizen holds sacred—haven’t you heard?”

“Something of the sort, yes,” Sam admitted. “We didn’t know it was exactly a widely held belief.”

“Oh, it’s been all the rage for at least a month! Telepaths invade other people’s privacy, you see—you can never tell when one might be reading your mind. You could make laws against that, but there’d be no way to enforce them—unless you had telepathic police; and if you did, they’d probably side with their fellows. Those telepaths stick together, you know.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Dar. “In fact, I didn’t know there were any—well, almost.” He remembered the Wolman shaman.

“Ah, you see?” Father Marco wagged a forefinger at him. “You’ve known at least one person who always seemed to know what you were thinking. So has everyone, of course.”

“Of course! Who doesn’t have someone who knows them really well?”

“It could be that,” the priest said judiciously. “But when that person always seems to be one jump ahead of you—well, you naturally tend to wonder. Because telepaths use what you’re thinking against you, you see—they have an unfair advantage in the competition of life. They always know what you’re going to do, so they always know how to head you off.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Isn’t it just? But it gets worse. The I.D.E. police are reasonably sure that telepaths all over the Terran Sphere are getting in touch with one another, forming a society of their own, conspiring to overthrow the government and take over.”

“But how?” Sam frowned. “Couldn’t the police intercept their messages?”

“Intercept a message from one mind reader to another? Hardly. Besides, rumor has it that these telepaths don’t even need to get on a starship to get a message from one planet to another.”

“What?”

“That’s the word.” Father Marco nodded. “Their thoughts travel from star to star almost instantaneously. You can see that would give their conspiracy a bit of an advantage over the forces of society.”

“Yes, I certainly can.” Dar leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “And do I gather from your tone, Father, that you don’t quite believe all this?”

Father Marco leaned over. “Frankly, I think it’s the biggest pot of rotten incense I’ve ever smelled!”

“What I can’t figure out,” Sam put in, “is why people would get so worked up about something that probably doesn’t even exist.”

“Well, it’s been known to happen before,” Father Marco said judiciously. “Mass hysteria is never that far beneath the skin, I suppose. A human being is a thinking animal, but crowds don’t seem to be. So I suppose it’s just as well that the police are taking action, even though they’re probably acting only on the strength of a rumor.”

“Rumor?” Dar frowned. “How so?”

“Tips are usually hearsay, I gather. Nonetheless, better to act on a rumor than to risk a riot.”

“Riot?” Sam protested. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not. If the people didn’t know the authorities were on the lookout, they might try to do something on their own—then all it’d take would be one whisper that so-and-so was a telepath, and you’d have a full-scale witch-hunt to deal with. No, it’s better that …”

“Do you mind?”

A portly gentleman had huffed up from a nearby table.

“Am I in your way?” Father Marco said politely.

“No, but you’re upsetting my party quite a bit! If you must insist on discussing politics, would you please have the courtesy to do it in your own quarters? It’s in frightfully poor taste, and it’s ruining my digestion!”

“Oh!” Dar exchanged a look with Father Marco. “My apologies, citizen. Of course, if we’re offending …”

“You’ll keep right on!” A skinny hand clapped Dar’s shoulder like a pincers. “Ay, give offense! Bother the lazy hogs out of their trough! Goad them into doing something—into living, for Lord’s sake!” He was a short, lean, aging man, who looked to be as hard as a meteorite and as merry as a comet. And next to him …

Dar stiffened, eyes widening. Next to the old man stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with the body of Venus outlined by a flowing, sleeveless, calf-length gown that clung to every curve. Her face was comprised of a high, smooth brow, delicate eyebrows; large, wide-set eyes heavily lidded; a small, tip-tilted nose; and a mouth with a hint of a smile that promised delights and challenged him to seek them. Tawny hair rippled down to her waist. It was the face from the dreams of his boyhood, the face that he had never thought could be, the face that could never let the grown man rest.

The unfairness of it hit him like a stiletto—that she should be with that old geezer, instead of with him!

The old geezer was turning on the portly indigestion case, who had made some outraged noises. “And I’ll thank you to let your remarks go public! Don’t you know what happens to people who won’t talk politics? They stop caring about their government! And do you know what happens when they stop caring? One night, some sneaky, unprincipled scoundrel sneaks in and changes their government on them! And the next morning, they wake up and find their taxes are as high as their collarbones, and they can’t go anyplace without a permit, and, taken all in all, they’re not much better than slaves! And that’s what happens when you keep your remarks to yourself!”

“Sir!” The fat one recoiled as though he’d stepped on slime. “This is obscene!”

“I’d rather be obscene, and not absurd—but since you seem to think the other way, I think my friends and I had better go look for some fresher air!” He turned to Father Marco, Dar, and Sam. “How about it, oh ones with spirit? You’ll find a breeze blowing by the stage that’s amazingly fresh! We’re going down there, my niece and I—join us, if you’re up to it!” And he turned away, limping between the tables in a rush, as though life would get away from him if he didn’t hurry to catch it.

The girl turned to follow him—and did her gaze linger just a moment on Dar?

Imagination. Had to be. But …

She was only his niece!

“Huh? What?” His head snapped around toward Father Marco.

“I said, shall we join them?” There was a gleam in the priest’s eye.

“Uh … yeah. Seem like nice folks.”

“Why not?” Sam was a monotone in a frigid face. “It’s sure to be lively.”

They got up, with their glasses, and filed after the loud voice on the old legs.

“Sit down, sit down!” The geezer waved them to chairs around a large table as he slid into one himself. His niece sat demurely next to him. “So you’re a Cathodean,” the oldster greeted Father Marco. “What’s a live order like yours doing in a dead place like this?”