“The House of …” Sam’s voice choked off. She cleared her throat. “Uh, not the head offices, of course.”

The brown lenses swiveled toward her. The little man nodded slowly.

“But the head offices have to be on Terra!”

The brown lenses turned slowly from side to side. “We like it better here.”

Dar clenched his fists to hide their quivering. “And, uh, whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?”

The brown lenses tracked back toward him. “I’ve got a lot of names.”

“Any one will do.” Dar tried to grin.

“Call me Sard, then—Thalvor Sard. I’m the Syndic.”

“The Syndic?” Sam gasped. “The biggest boss criminal in all of Terran space?”

“A businessman,” Sard said, a bit impatiently, “only a businessman. Just a little impatient with government regulation, that’s all.

“Right?” His masked gaze swung to Dar.

“Right,” Dar mumbled. From what he’d heard, Sard’s “impatience” amounted to a running war on fifteen planets, and underground anarchy on most of the rest.

“But—here?” Sam spluttered. “On a frontier planet halfway to the marches?”

“Not so much of a frontier, as you’ve maybe noticed. The folks here like their comfort—like it enough to be glad to have us handy, and make sure their cops can’t do much about us.”

“And because they don’t have radios,” Dar guessed.

Sard’s head swiveled back to him. “My, you’re the quick one, though. Right, this time—radios cost so much, the cops don’t have ‘em. That means we can stay one jump ahead out here. Oh, they can move efficiently enough inside the town, where they can use couriers—but not out here. I’m what little law there is, outside the bounds of Haskerville.”

Dar nodded slowly.

“And the law can do a lot for you.” Sard nodded back at Dar. “Safety and protection, and a fat salary. What’ll the town law give you, the I.D.E. law? Arrest and, probably, a quick death.”

“Arrest? Whoa! What is this?” Dar protested. “We’re not in trouble with the cops!”

Sard just stared at him.

“Well … okay. Maybe they did try to bushwhack us in that tavern,” Dar amended. “And maybe they were trying to take us in when your, ah, people intervened. But we haven’t done anything illegal.”

“You’re there,” Sard said. “That’s enough.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a telepath—or your woman is. And all the government sees is that, in the wrong hands, your power could be a real threat to them.” He leaned back. “They’re right, too.”

Dar found his voice again. “Telepath? Me?”

Sard shrugged. “All right, play innocent, if you want. They’ll be out after you, just the same. That’s why that BOA man faked being murdered right next to you—to give the cops a reason for arresting you.”

“No!” Dar cried. “He’s trying to stop us from taking the new governor of Wolmar’s resignation back to Terra!”

“Sure,” Sard said slowly. “Right.”

“Uh … what would we have to do for this salary-plus-benefits of yours?” Sam put in.

The dark glasses swiveled toward her. “Nothing much. Just tell us what certain people are planning to do. You’d travel a lot—especially to Terra.”

“Handsome offer,” Sam said slowly. “Unfortunately, neither of us is a telepath.”

The glasses swung toward Dar.

“ ‘Fraid that’s true,” Dar seconded. “Either I.D.E.’s got its signals crossed, or you do.”

“My signals don’t get crossed,” Sard corrected. “I.D.E. might, but not the LORDS—and they’re the ones who’re out after telepaths.”

“The exception proves the rule,” Sam said. “This is it.”

Sard shook his head slowly. “Too bad. Such nice young kids.”

“What’s too bad?” Dar felt a premonition walking up his spine.

“Your untimely deaths.” Sard leaned forward. “One of you is a telepath, whether or not the other one knows it—and that telepath must’ve already picked up enough information to pack half of my people off to prison worlds, maybe enough to shut down the whole House of Houses. And you’d do it, too, ‘cause you’d think it’d buy the LORDS off your back.”

“But we’re not telepaths.”

“Sorry.” Sard shook his head. “Can’t take the chance. Either you join, or you leave in an urn.” He pushed a button. “Don’t say anything right now—think it over. This shouldn’t be a snap judgment, you understand.”

Two tall, muscular men, impeccably dressed, came in.

“These gentlemen will conduct you to your accommodations,” Sard explained. “You’ll get better ones if you join up, of course. Think it over.”

The accommodations had a door made of steel bars and a very elaborate combination lock.

“Gee, I didn’t know you were a telepath.” Dar flopped down on a very hard bunk.

“I didn’t know you were,” Sam retorted. “Now that we’ve established that, shall we try to make sense out of the situation?”

“What’s to make sense of?” Dar shrugged. “Somebody’s spreading nasty lies about us. Probably Rat-Face. Does that make any more sense out of it?”

“Some,” Sam insisted. “That gets him official help in trying to get us locked up, which keeps the resignation from getting to BOA, while he waits for Bhelabher to change his mind.”

Dar snorted. “Bhelabher? He’ll wait for a century. The Honorable won’t change his mind as long as Shacklar’s right next to him.”

Sam shrugged. “So Rat-Face is doomed to failure. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know that—so he still gets in our way.”

“So the telepath who just landed on the planet, and for whom the police are searching, is supposed to be one of us, huh?”

Sam nodded. “Looks like it—which explains why we’ve seen so many of their shoestring police.”

“Well, what they don’t get done, the House of Houses does.” Dar scratched behind his ear. “It’s almost as though this planet has two governments, one inside the cities, and one out.”

“Somewhat like our noble interstellar government,” Sam said acidly. “There’s the official government, and there’s the LORDS.”

“Can’t stand long, can it?” Dar stretched. “Well! That leaves us two real simple problems—one, to get out of here; and two, clearing our names.”

“I don’t know what to do about two,” Sam said, “but about one …” She stared off into space, eyes losing focus.

Dar frowned. What was she doing? He was just about to ask, when Sam turned and smiled brightly. “Nope, don’t hear a murmur. Now, let’s see …” She stood up, went to the door, knelt down, reached around to the front, and pressed her ear against the back of the lock. “One nice thing about a low-metal planet is the lack of modern devices.”

“What’re you …?”

“Sh!” she hissed fiercely, and Dar shut up. She punched buttons and turned a dial for a few minutes, muttering, “No … no, the other way … there, that’s right … there … there!” Triumphantly, she shoved on the door and, slowly, with a soft rumble, it slid to the side. She stepped out.

Dar stared.

Then he darted out after her. “Where did you …?”

“Whisper,” she hissed. “Sound carries in these tunnels!”

Dar put his lips against her ear and murmured, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“You pick up a lot in a government office,” she whispered back, “especially if you want a look at your own personnel file. Come on, let’s go!”

She led off, padding silently down the dark tunnel. Dar could remember that they had to turn left as they came out of the cell, but after that, he was as lost as Handsel and Gretel without the bread crumbs. But Sam wasn’t in doubt for a moment; she paused at the corridor’s end (he bumped into her. It was so dark, that was the only way he knew she’d stopped), listened a moment, then darted to her right, hauling Dar after her. They went on for what seemed a half-hour, but must’ve been all of five minutes; then he bumped into her again. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sh!” she answered; then, “All clear. Come on.”

Halfway down the next midnight passage, she stopped suddenly. Then she was pushing him back frantically, and shoving him into a cross-corridor. They went down it for a few steps; then she yanked on his arm, stopping him, and froze. He could tell she froze because he could see her in the first ragtag of light that hit the far wall from a handlamp. Dar froze too, plastered against the wall like a tapestry.