signal_

would listen to what she had to say. She’d become used to that; the realization didn’t disturb her.
What she said to her course computer was, “This is Telzey Amberdon. Cancel me for both classes tonight.”
The computer acknowledged. Winter rains had been pounding against Pehanron’s weather shields throughout the day. Telzey got into boots, long coat and gloves, wrapped a scarf around her head, and went out to the carport at the back of the bungalow. A few minutes later, her car slid out of Pehanron’s main gate, switched on its fog beams and arrowed up into a howling storm.
Somebody would be following her through the dark sky. She’d got used to that, too.

She went into a public ComWeb booth not long after leaving the college and dialed a number. The screen lit up and a face appeared.
“Hello, Klayung,” she said. “I got your signal. I’m calling from Beale.”
“I know,” said Klayung. He was an executive of the Psychology Service, old, stringy, mild-mannered. “Leave the booth, turn left, walk down to the corner. There’s a car waiting.”
“All right,” Telzey said. “Anything else?”
“Not till I see you.”
It was raining as hard on Beale as on Pehanron, and this section of the town had no weather shielding. Head bent, Telzey ran down the street to the corner. The door to the back compartment of a big aircar standing there opened as she came up. She slipped inside. The door closed.
Clouds blotted out the lights of Beale below as she was fishing tissues from her purse to dry her face. The big car was a space job though it didn’t look like one. She could see the driver silhouetted beyond the partition. They were alone in the car.
She directed a mental tap at the driver, touched a mind shield, standard Psychology Service type. There was no flicker of response or recognition, so he was no psi-operator.
Telzey r

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