James H. Schmitz - Telzey & Trigger

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T’nT

TELZEY & TRIGGER

The Complete Federation

of the Hub

Volume 2

JAMES H. SCHMITZ

EDITED BY ERIC FLINT

co-edited by Guy Gordon

Fout! Onbekende schakeloptie-instructie.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents

is purely coincidental.

“Company Planet” first published May 1971 in Analog; “Resident Witch” first published in May 1970 in Analog; “Compulsion” first published

June 1970 in Analog (note: the Prologue to “Compulsion” was originally published as a separate short story under the title “The Pork Chop Tree”

in February 1965 in Analog; “Glory Day” first published June 1971 in Analog; “Child of the Gods” first published March 1972 in Analog; “Ti’s

Toys” first published under the title “The Telzey Toy” May 1971 in Analog; “The Symbiotes” first published September 1972 in Analog; all

A Baen Book

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-57879-0

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

First printing, July 2000

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

COLOR COORDINATION

IS EVERYTHING

“I’ve found out a few things,” Telzey said. “Better get your mindshield closed tight, and keep it tight.”

“Done,” said Trigger. “Psi stuff around, eh?”

Telzey nodded. “Quite a lot of it! I don’t know what that means yet, but it could mean trouble. About what

happened to us—somebody turned a stun beam on Casmard’s space yacht and knocked us out before they

grappled and boarded.”

“A rough beam that was!” Trigger said. “Felt as if my head turned into a drum half the size of the universe and

somebody was pounding on it with clubs. Do you know who did it, where we are, and what’s happened to

Casmard and the navigator?”

More or less, I do,” Telzey said. “We’re on Askanam. More specifically, we’re in the palace of the man who’s

been Regent of Tamandun in Casmard’s absence. He was presumably responsible for the attack on the yacht.”

“To have Casmard kidnapped?”

“Apparently. We’re here because we happened to be on the yacht with Casmard.” Trigger said after a moment.

“From what I’ve heard of Askanam politics, that doesn’t look too good.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t good,” Telzey agreed. “When we’re missed, all anyone will know is that the yacht vanished

in interstellar space with all aboard. And my mind probe picked up something about arena games connected with

Glory Day festivities.”

“Well—” Trigger shrugged. “Let’s freshen up and change our clothes before we have visitors. What do you

wear on Askanam in the palace of a Regent who might be thinking of featuring you in the upcoming arena

games?”

“Something quietly conservative, I suppose,” Telzey said.

“All right. Just so it goes with my purse.” The cosmetics purse didn’t contain cosmetics but Trigger’s favorite

gun. …

Books in this series:

Telzey Amberdon

TnT: Telzey & Trigger

Trigger Argee (forthcoming)

COMPANY PLANET

Fermilaur was famous both as the leading body remodeling center of the Hub and as a luxurious resort world which

offered relaxation and scenery along with entertainment to fit every taste, from the loftiest to the most depraved.

It was only three hours from Orado, and most of Telzey’s friends had been there. But she’d never

happened to get around to it until one day she received a distress call from Fermilaur.

It came from the mother of Gikkes Orm. Telzey learned that Gikkes, endowed by nature with a pair of perfectly

sound and handsome legs, had decided those limbs needed to be lengthened and reshaped by Fermilaur’s eminent

cosmetic surgeons if she was ever to find true happiness. Her parents, who, in Telzey’s opinion, had even less good

sense than Gikkes, had let her go ahead with it, and her mother had accompanied her to Fermilaur. With the legs

remodeled according to specification, Gikkes had discovered that everything else about her now appeared out of

proportion. Unable to make up her mind what to do, she became greatly upset. Her mother, equally upset, equally

helpless, put in an interstellar call to Telzey.

Having known Gikkes for around two years, Telzey wasn’t surprised. Gikkes didn’t quite rate as a full friend, but

she wasn’t a bad sort even if she did get herself periodically into problem situations from which somebody else had

to extricate her. Telzey decided she wouldn’t mind doing it again. While about it, she should have time for a look at a

few of Fermilaur’s unique restructuring institutions and other attractions.

Somewhat past the middle of the night for that locality, she checked in at a tourist tower not far from the cosmetic

center where the Orms were housed. She’d heard that Fermilaur used resort personnel to advertise its remodeling

skills, the general note being that having oneself done over was light-hearted fashion fun and that there was nothing

to worry about because almost any cosmetic modification could be reversed if the client wished it. The staff of the

tower’s reception lobby confirmed the report. They were works of art, testimonials to the daring inventiveness of

Fermilaur’s beauty surgeons. Telzey’s room reservation was checked by a slender goddess with green-velvet skin,

slanted golden eyes without detectable pupils, and a shaped scalp crest of soft golden feathers which shifted

dancingly with each head motion. She smiled at Telzey, said, “May I suggest the services of a guide, Miss

Amberdon?”

Telzey nodded. “Yes, I’ll want one.” There were no cities, no townships here. The permanent population was

small, mostly involved with the tourist trade and cosmetic institutions, and its maintenance systems were

underground, out of sight. Much of the surface had been transformed into an endlessly flowing series of parks in

which residential towers and resort and remodeling centers stood in scenic isolation. Traffic was by air, and

inexperienced visitors who didn’t prefer to drift about more or less at random were advised to employ guides.

The goddess beckoned to somebody behind Telzey’s back.

“Uspurul is an accredited COS Services guide and thoroughly familiar with our quadrant,” she informed Telzey.

“I’m sure you’ll find her very satisfactory.”

Uspurul was a quite small person, some four inches shorter than Telzey, slender in proportion. Like the

receptionist, she looked like something COS Services might have conjured up out of exotic mythologies. Her pointed

ears were as expressively mobile as a terrier’s; a silver horse’s tail swished about with languid grace behind her. The

triangular face with its huge dark eyes and small delicate nose was unquestionably beautiful but wasn’t human. It

wasn’t intended to be. She might have been a charming toy, brought to life.

Which was all very well, as far as Telzey was concerned. More important seemed a shadowy swirl of feeling

she’d sensed as Uspurul came up to the reception desk—a feeling which didn’t match in the least the engaging

friendliness of the toy woman’s smile. It wasn’t exactly malice. More something like calculating cold interest, rather

predatory. Telzey took note of nuances in the brief conversation that followed, decided the two were, in fact, more

anxious to make sure she’d employ Uspurul as guide than one should expect.

Somewhere else, that could have been a danger signal. A sixteen-year-old with a wealthy family made a tempting

target for the criminally inclined. The resort world, however, had the reputation of being almost free of professional

crime. And, in any case, it shouldn’t be difficult to find out what this was about—she’d discovered during the talk

that Uspurul’s mind appeared to be wide open to telepathic probing.

“Why not have breakfast with me in my room tomorrow?” she said to the guide. “We can set up a schedule then.”

And she could ferret out at her leisure the nature of the interest the remodeled myths seemed to take in her.

They settled on the time, and Telzey was escorted to her room. She put in a call to Mrs. Orm from there, learned

that Gikkes would be in treatment at the main center of Hute Beauticians during the early part of the morning and

was anxious to see Telzey and get her opinion of the situation immediately afterward. Mrs. Orm, having succeeded

in transferring the responsibility for decisions to somebody else, appeared much less distraught.

Telzey opened one of her suitcases, got out a traveler’s lock and attached it to the door of the room, which in

effect welded the door to the adjoining wall. The only thing anyone trying to get in without her cooperation could

accomplish was to wake up half the tower level. She continued unpacking reflectively.

Fermilaur didn’t have a planetary government in the usual sense. It was the leasehold of COS, the association of

cosmetologists which ran the planet. Its citizen-owners, set up in a tax-free luxury resort and getting paid for it, had

reason to be happy with the arrangement, and could have few inducements to dabble in crime. The Hub’s underworld

reputedly had its own dealings with COS—bodies, of course, could be restructured for assorted illegal purposes. But

the underworld didn’t try to introduce its usual practices here. COS never denied reports that criminal pros found

attempting to set up shop on the leasehold vanished into its experimental centers. Apparently, not many cared to test

the validity of the reports.

Hence, no crime, or almost no crime. And crime of the ordinary sort hardly could be involved in the situation. The

receptionist and the elfin guide never had seen her before. But they did seem to have recognized her by name, to

have been waiting, in fact, for her to show up.

Telzey sat down on the edge of the bed.

The two were COS employees. If anyone had an interest in her here, it should be COS.

The tower reservation had been made in her name five hours ago on Orado. Five hours was plenty of time for a

good information service to provide inquirers with the general background of the average Federation citizen. Quite

probably, COS had its own service, and obtained such information on every first-time visitor to Fermilaur. It could

be useful in a variety of ways.

The question was what might look interesting enough in her background to draw COS’s attention to her. It wasn’t

that the Amberdon family had money. Almost everybody who came here would meet that qualification. There were,

Telzey decided, chewing meditatively on her lower lip, only two possible points of interest she could think of at the

moment. And both looked a little improbable.

Her mother was a member of the Overgovernment. Conceivably, that could be of significance to COS. At present,

it was difficult to see why it should be.

The other possibility seemed even more remote. Information services had yet to dig up the fact that Telzey

Amberdon was a telepath, a mind reader, a psi, competent and practicing. She knew that, because if they ever did dig

it up, she’d be the first to hear. She had herself supplied regularly with any datum added to her available dossiers. Of

the people who were aware she was a psi, only a very few could be regarded as not being completely dependable.

Unfortunately, there were those few. It was possible, though barely so, that the item somehow had got into COS’s

files.

She could have a problem then. The kind of people who ran COS had to be practical and hardheaded.

Hardheaded, practical people, luckily, were inclined to consider stories about psis to be at least ninety-nine percent

superstitious nonsense. However, the ones who didn’t share that belief sometimes reacted undesirably. They might

reflect that a real psi, competent, practicing, could be eminently useful to them.

Or they might decide such a psi was too dangerous to have around.

She’d walk rather warily tomorrow until she made out what was going on here! One thing, though, seemed

reasonably certain—COS, whatever ideas it might have, wasn’t going to try to break through the door to get at her

tonight. She could use a few hours of rest.

She climbed into bed, turned over, and settled down. A minute or two later, she was asleep.

After breakfast, Telzey set off with Uspurul on a leisurely aircar tour of the area. She’d explained she’d be visiting

an acquaintance undergoing treatment at Hute Beauticians later on, and then have lunch with another friend who’d

come out from Orado with her. In the afternoon, she might get down finally to serious sightseeing.

With Uspurul handling the car and gossiping merrily away, Telzey could give her attention to opening

connections to the guide’s mind. As she’d judged, it was an easy mind to enter, unprotected and insensitive to

telepathic probing. One fact was promptly established then, since it was pervasively present in Uspurul’s thoughts.

COS did, in fact, take a special interest in Telzey, but it wasn’t limited to her. She had plenty of company.

The reason for the interest wasn’t apparent. Uspurul hadn’t wanted to know about it, hardly thought of it. The

little female was a complex personality. She was twenty-two, had become a bondswoman four years earlier, selling

her first contract to COS Services for the standard five-year short-term period. People who adopted bondservant

status did it for a wide range of reasons. Uspurul’s was that a profitable career could be built on bond contracts by

one who went about it intelligently.

She’d chosen her masters after careful deliberation. On a world which sold luxury, those who served also lived in

relative luxury, and as a COS guide she was in contact with influential and wealthy people who might be used for her

further advancement. Her next contract owner wouldn’t be COS. She was circumspect in her behavior.

More was done on Fermilaur than cultivating an exclusive tourist trade and cosmetic clientele, and it wasn’t

advisable to appear inquisitive about the other things. COS didn’t mind rumors about various barely legal or quite

illegal activities in which it supposedly engaged; they titillated public interest and were good for business. But

underlings who became too knowledgeable about such obscure matters could find it difficult to quit.

Uspurul intended to remain free to quit when her contract period ended. For the past year, she’d been on the

fringes of something obscure enough. It had brought her a string of satisfactory bonuses, and there was nothing

obviously illegal about what she did or COS Services did. As long as she avoided any indication of curiosity it

seemed safe.

She still acted as guide. But she was assigned now only to female tourists who appeared to have no interest in

making use of the remodeling facilities. Uspurul’s assignment was to get them to change their minds without being

obvious about it. She was skillful at that, usually succeeded. On a number of occasions when she hadn’t succeeded,

she’d been instructed to make sure the person in question would be at a certain place at a certain time. She’d almost

always been able to arrange it.

Now she was using the morning’s comfortable schedule to keep up a flow of the light general chatter through

which she could most readily plant the right notions in a hesitant visitor’s mind.

“I was thinking I might have a little remodeling myself while I was here,” Telzey remarked, by and by. She took

out a small mirror, looked into it critically, arching her brows. “Nothing very important really! But I could have my

brows moved higher, maybe get the eyes enlarged.” She clicked the mirror to an angle view, pushed back her hair on

the left side. “And the ears, you see, could be set a little lower—and the least bit farther back.” She studied the ear a

moment. “What do you think of their shape?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have them change the shape!” said Uspurul, thinking cheerfully that here came an easy bonus!

“But they might be a tiny bit lower. You’re right about that.”

Telzey nodded, put the mirror away. “Well, no rush about it. I’ll be looking around a few days first.”

“Someone like you doesn’t really need remodeling, of course,” Uspurul said. “But it is fun having yourself turned

into exactly what you’d like to be! And, of course, it’s always reversible.”

“Hmmm,” said Telzey. “They did a beautiful job on you. Did you pick it out for yourself?”

Uspurul twitched an ear, grinned impishly.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I was a child!” she confessed. “But, no—this was COS Services’ idea. I advertise for

the centers, you see. A twenty-two thousand credit job, if I had to pay for it. It’d be a little extreme for the Hub

generally, of course. But it’s reversible, and when I leave they’ll give me any other modification I want within a four

thousand credit range. That’s part of my contract.”

She burbled on. Telzey didn’t have the slightest intention of getting remodeled, but she wanted Uspurul and COS

Services to think she did until she was ready to ship out. It would keep the situation more relaxed.

It remained a curious situation. The people to whom Uspurul reported were satisfied if a visitor signed up for any

kind of remodeling at all, even the most insignificant of modifications. That hardly looked like a simple matter of

drumming up new business for the centers, while the special attention given some of those who remained

disinterested was downright on the sinister side. The places to which Uspurul steered such tourists were always

resort spots where there were a good many other people around, coming and going places—in other words, where

somebody could easily brush close by the tourist without attracting attention.

What happened there? Something perhaps in the nature of a hypno spray? Uspurul never saw what happened and

didn’t try to. When she parted company with the tourist that day, there’d been no noticeable effects. But next day

she’d be given a different assignment.

Of course, those people weren’t disappearing. It wasn’t that kind of situation. They weren’t, by and large, the kind

of people who could be made to vanish quietly. Presumably they’d been persuaded by some not too legal method to

make a remodeling appointment, and afterward went on home like Uspurul’s other clients. They might all go home

conditioned to keep returning to Fermilaur for more extensive and expensive treatments; at the moment, that seemed

the most probable explanation. But whatever the COS Services’ operation was, Telzey reflected, she’d simply make

sure she didn’t get included in it. With Uspurul’s mind open to her, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Back on Orado

then, she’d bring the matter to the attention of Federation authorities. Meanwhile she might run across a few other

open minds around here who could tell her more than Uspurul knew.

The man she was meeting for lunch—a relative on her mother’s side—was an investigative reporter for one of the

newscast systems. Keth had his sharp nose into many matters, and exposing rackets was one of his specialties. He

might be able to say what this was about, but the difficulty would be to explain how she’d come by her information

without mentioning telepathy. Keth didn’t know she was a psi. Nor could she do her kind of mental research on

him—she’d discovered on another occasion that he was equipped with a good solid commercial mind shield. Keth

doubted that anyone could really see what was in another person’s mind, but he took precautions anyway.

The remodeling counselors at the Hute Beauticians center had told Gikkes Orm quite candidly that if she was to

be equipped with the leg type she wanted, overall body modifications were indicated to maintain an aesthetic

balance. Gikkes hadn’t believed it. But now the cosmetic surgeons had given her a pair of long, exquisitely molded

legs, and it seemed the counselors were right.

The rest of her didn’t fit.

“Just look at those shoulders!” she cried, indicating one of two life-sized models which stood against the far wall

of the room. They showed suggested sets of physical modifications which might be performed on Gikkes. “I love the

legs! But—”

“Well, you might be a little, uh, statuesque,” Telzey acknowledged. She studied the other model. Sinuous was the

word for that one. A dancer’s body. “But, Gikkes, you’d look great either way, really! Especially as the slinky

character!”

“It wouldn’t be me!” Gikkes wailed. “And how much work do you think I’d have to put in to stay slinky then?

You know I’m not the athletic type.”

“No, I guess you’re not,” Telzey said. “When did you first get the idea that you wanted your legs changed?”

It appeared Gikkes had been playing around with the notion for several years, but it was only quite recently that it

had begun to seem vital to her. It was her own idea, however—not an obsession planted on a previous trip to

Fermilaur. Telzey had been wondering about that. The solution shouldn’t be too difficult. Off and on for some while,

Telzey had made use of suitable occasions to nudge Gikkes in the general direction of rationality. It had to be done

with care because Gikkes wasn’t too stable. But she had basic intelligence and, with some unnoticed guidance, was

really able to handle most of her problems herself and benefit from doing it. Telzey picked up the familiar overall

mind patterns now, eased a probe into the unhappy thought muddle of the moment, and presently began her nudging.

Gikkes went on talking.

Twenty minutes later, she said ruefully, “So I guess the whole remodeling idea was a silly mistake! The thing to

do, of course, is to have them put me back exactly as I was.”

“From all you’ve told me,” Telzey agreed, “that does make sense.”

Mrs. Orm was surprised but relieved when informed of her daughter’s decision. The Hute staff wasn’t surprised.

Remodeling shock and reversal requests weren’t infrequent. In this case, reversal was no problem. Gikkes’

experiment in surgical cosmetology probably had reduced her life expectancy by an insignificant fraction, and the

Orm family was out a good deal of money, which it could afford. Otherwise, things would be as before.

A level of the Hute center restaurant was on Keth Deboll’s private club circuit, which in itself guaranteed gourmet

food. It was a quietly formal place where the employees weren’t trying to look like anything but people. Keth’s bony

inquisitive face, familiar to newsviewers over a large section of the Hub, presumably didn’t go unrecognized here,

but nobody turned to stare. He deliberated over the menu, sandy brows lifting in abrupt interest now and then, and

ordered for both of them, rubbing his palms together.

“You’ll like it,” he promised.

She always did like what Keth selected, but this time she barely tasted what she put in her mouth, as she chewed

and swallowed. He’d mentioned that top COS executives patronized the place, and that he rather expected to be

meeting someone before lunch was over.

She’d been wondering how she could get close enough to some top COS executive to start tapping his mind. . . .

She was sliding out discreet probes before Keth had placed his order. After the food came, only a fraction of

awareness remained in her physical surroundings. Keth would eat in leisurely silent absorption until the edge was off

his appetite, and she might have her contact made by that time.

Several minds in the vicinity presently seemed as open to contact as Uspurul’s. None of them happened to be a

COS executive. Something else was in the vicinity—seven or eight mind shields. Unusual concentration of the

gadgets! Her probes slipped over them, moved on, searching—

“You might get the opportunity,” Keth’s voice was saying. “Here comes a gentleman who could arrange it for

you.”

Awareness flowed swiftly back to the outer world as she reoriented herself between one moment and the next.

Keth had reached the point where he didn’t mind talking again, had asked—what? Ah, yes, had asked what plans she

had for the day. She’d responded automatically, that she was hoping to get a look at some of Fermilaur’s less

publicized projects. . . . Who could arrange it?

She looked around. A handsome, tall, strong-faced man was coming toward their table. On his right shoulder

perched a small creature with blue and white fur, adorned with strings of tiny sparkling jewels. The man’s dark eyes

rested on Telzey as he approached. He nodded to her, smiled pleasantly, looked at Keth.

“Am I intruding?” It was a deep, soft-toned voice.

“Not at all,” Keth told him. “We’re almost finished—and I’d intended trying to get in touch with you during the

afternoon. Telzey, this is Chan Osselin. He handles publicity for COS and incidentally owns Hute

Beauticians. . . . Telzey Amberdon, an old friend. We came out from Orado together. If you have the time, join us.”

Osselin drew a chair around and sat down. His scalp hair was short, deep black, like soft animal fur. Telzey

wondered whether it was a product of remodeling, felt rather certain then that it wasn’t. The small animal on his

shoulder stared at Telzey out of large pale eyes, yawned and scratched a rounded ear with a tiny clawed finger. The

stringed jewels decorating it flashed flickering rainbows of fire.

“I heard of your arrival a few hours ago,” Osselin said. “Here on Adacee business?”

Keth shrugged. “Always on Adacee business.”

“Um. Something specific?”

“Not so far. Something new, unpublicized, sensational.”

Osselin looked reflective. “Sensational in what way?”

“Questionable legality wouldn’t have to be part of it,” Keth said. “But it would help. Something with shock effect.

None of your pretty things.”

“So COS is to be exposed again?” Osselin seemed unruffled.

“With some new angle,” said Keth. “On some new issue.”

“Well,” Osselin said, “I’m sure it can be arranged. . . .”

Telzey, absently nibbling the last crumbs of her dessert, drew back her attention from what was being said. She’d

known Chan Osselin’s name as soon as she saw him. She’d seen him before as an image in Uspurul’s mind. One of

COS’s top men. Uspurul wouldn’t willingly have brought herself to the attention of someone like Osselin. People of

that kind were to be avoided. They had too much power, were too accustomed to using it without hesitation or

scruple.

There was no trace of the dead, psi-deadening, effect of a mind shield about Osselin—

Telzey reached out toward the deep sound of his voice, paying no attention to the words, groping cautiously for

some wash of thought which might be associated with the voice.

She had no warning of any kind. A psi hammer slammed down on her, blacking out her vision, leaving her shaken

and stunned.

She drew in a slow, cautious breath. Her psi screens had locked belatedly into a hard shield; another assault of that

kind could have no great effect on her now. But none came. She realized she’d lowered her head in protective reflex.

Her hair hid her face, and the voices of the men indicated they weren’t aware that anything in particular had

happened. Vision began to return. The section of the tabletop before her grew clear, seemed to sway about in short

semicircles. A last wave of giddiness and nausea flowed over her and was gone. She’d be all right now. But that had

been close—

She kept her face turned away as she reached for her bag. The makeup cassette showed she’d paled, but it wasn’t

too noticeable. Listening to a thin, angry whistling nearby, she touched herself up, put the cassette away, and finally

raised her head.

The furry thing on Osselin’s shoulder stared at her. Abruptly it produced its whistling sounds again, bobbing up

and down. Osselin stroked it with a finger. It closed its eyes and subsided. He smiled at Telzey.

“It gets agitated now and then about strangers,” he remarked.

She smiled back. “So it seems. What do you call it?”

“It’s a yoli. A pet animal from Askanam. Rare even there, from what I’ve been told. This one came to me as a

gift.”

“Supposed to be a sort of living good luck charm, aren’t they?” said Keth.

“Something like that. Faithful guardians who protect their master from evil influences.” Osselin’s dark eyes

crinkled genially at Telzey. “I can’t vouch for their effectiveness—but I do seem to remain undisturbed by evil

influences! Would you care to accompany us to a few of the specialized labs a little later, Miss Amberdon? You

should find them interesting.”

Keth was to be shown a few projects COS didn’t talk about otherwise, which might give him the kind of story he

wanted. They preferred that to having him dig around on Fermilaur on his own. She told Osselin she’d be delighted

to go along.

The yoli appeared to be falling asleep, but she sensed its continuing awareness of her. A psi guard—against psis.

Its intelligence seemed on the animal level. She couldn’t make out much more about it, and didn’t care to risk trying

at present. It probably would react as violently to an attempted probe of its own mind as to one directed against its

master.

And now she might be in personal danger. The number of shields she’d touched here suggested some

sophistication in psi matters. Ordinarily it wouldn’t disturb her too much. Mechanical anti-psi devices could hamper

a telepath but weren’t likely to lead to the detection of one who’d gained some experience, and other telepaths rarely

were a problem. The yoli’s psi senses, however, had been a new sort of trap; and she’d sprung it. She had to assume

that Osselin knew of his pet’s special quality and what its behavior just now signified. A man like that wasn’t likely

to be indifferent to the discovery that someone had tried to reach his mind. And the yoli had made it clear who it had

been.

If she dropped the matter now, it wasn’t likely that Osselin would drop it. And she wouldn’t know what he

intended to do then until it was too late. . . .

Some time later, as the tour of the special labs began, there was an attention split. Telzey seemed aware of herself,

or of part of herself, detached, a short distance away. That part gazed at the exhibits, smiled and spoke when it

should, asked questions about projects, said the right things—a mental device she’d worked out and practiced to

mask the sleepy blankness, the temporary unawareness of what was said and done, which could accompany

excessive absorption on the psi side. On the psi side, meanwhile, she’d been carrying on a project of her own which

had to do with Osselin’s yoli.

The yoli was having a curious experience. Shortly after Telzey and Keth rejoined Osselin, it had begun to pick up

momentary impressions of another yoli somewhere about. Greatly intrigued because it had been a long time since it

last encountered or sensed one of its kind, it started searching mentally for the stranger, broadcasting its species’

contact signals.

Presently the signals were being returned, though faintly and intermittently. The yoli’s excitement grew. It probed

farther and farther for the signals’ source, forgetting now the telepath it had punished for trying to touch its master.

And along those heedlessly extended tendrils of thought, Telzey reached delicately toward the yoli mind, touched it

and melted into it, still unperceived.

It had taken time because she couldn’t risk making the creature suspicious again. The rest wasn’t too difficult. The

yoli’s intelligence was about that of a monkey. It had natural defenses against being controlled by another’s psi

holds, and Telzey didn’t try to tamper with those. Its sensory centers were open to her, which was all she needed.

Using its own impressions of how another yoli, a most desirable other yoli, would appear to it, she built up an

illusion that it was in satisfying communication with such a one and left the image planted firmly in its mind along

with a few other befuddling concepts. By that time, the yoli was no longer aware that she existed, much less of what

she was up to.

Then finally she was able to turn her attention again to Osselin. Caution remained required, and she suspected she

might be running short of time. But she could make a start.

The aircar floated three thousand feet above foggy valley lands—Fermilaur wilderness, tamed just enough to be

safe for the tourist trade. Tongue tip between lips, Telzey blinked at the clouds, pondering a thoroughly ugly

situation. There was a sparse dotting of other cars against the sky. One of them was trailing her; she didn’t know

which. It didn’t matter.

She glanced impatiently over at the comm grille. Keth Deboll was in conference somewhere with Osselin. She’d

left a message for him at his residential tower to call her car’s number as soon as he showed up. She’d left word at

her own tower to have calls from him transferred to the car. In one way or the other, she’d be in contact with him

presently. Meanwhile she had to wait, and waiting wasn’t easy in the circumstances.

Chan Osselin couldn’t sense a telepathic probe. Except for that, she might have been defeated and probably soon

dead. She’d found him otherwise a difficult mental type to handle. His flow of conscious thoughts formed a natural

barrier; it had been like trying to swim against a current which was a little too strong. She kept getting pushed back

while Osselin went on thinking whatever he was thinking, unaware of her efforts. She could follow his reflections

but hadn’t been able to get past them to the inner mind in the time she had available. . . . And then she’d been

courteously but definitely dismissed. The guided tour was over, and the men had private business to discuss. Shortly

after she left them, she’d lost her contact with Osselin.

She’d absorbed a good deal of scattered information by then, could begin fitting it together. As she did, the

picture, looking bad enough to start with, got progressively worse—

Normally, even people who accepted that there might be an occasional mind reader around had the impression

that telepathy couldn’t pick up enough specific and dependable information to be a significant threat to their privacy.

That might have been the attitude of the top men in COS up to a year ago. Unfortunately, very unfortunately for her,

they’d had a genuine psi scare then. They spotted the psi and killed him, but when they realized how much he’d

learned, that they almost hadn’t found him out in time, they were shaken. Mind shields and other protective devices

were promptly introduced. Osselin hated shields; like many others he found them as uncomfortable as a tight shoe.

When an Askab lady provided him with a guard yoli, he’d felt it was safe to do without a shield.

He still felt safe personally. That wasn’t the problem. COS had something going, a really important operation.

Telzey had caught worried flashes about it, no more and not enough. The Big Deal was how Osselin thought of it.

They couldn’t afford the chance of having the Big Deal uncovered. Keth Deboll was a notoriously persistent and

successful snoop; a telepathic partner would make him twice as dangerous. The fact that the two had appeared on

Fermilaur together might have no connection with the Big Deal, but who could tell? COS was checking on both at

present. If they couldn’t be cleared, they’d have to be killed. Risky, but it could be arranged. It would be less risky,

less suspicious, than carrying out a double mind-wipe and dumping them on some other world, which might have

been an alternative in different circumstances.

And that was it! Telzey wet her lips, felt a chill quivering again through her nerves, a sense of death edging into

the situation. She didn’t see how they could be cleared. Neither did Osselin, but something might turn up which

would make it unnecessary to dispose of them. The Amberdon girl’s demise or disappearance shouldn’t cause too

much trouble, but Deboll was another matter. Too many people would start wondering whether he hadn’t been on the

trail of something hot on Fermilaur, what it could be. This would have to be very carefully handled! Meanwhile COS

was taking no chances. Neither of the two would be allowed to leave the planet or get near an interstellar transmitter.

If they made the attempt, they’d get picked up at once. Otherwise, they could remain at large, under surveillance,

until the final decision was made. That should turn up any confederate they might have here.

The final decision was still some hours away. How many, Telzey didn’t know. Osselin hadn’t known it yet. But

not very many, in any case. . . .

Osselin himself might be the only way out of this. Their information on psis was limited; they thought of her only

as a telepath, like the other one, and didn’t suspect she could have further abilities which might endanger them. She

had that advantage at present. Given enough time, she should be able to get Osselin under control. She’d considered

trying to restore mental contact with him at long range, wherever he happened to be. But she wasn’t at all certain she

could do it, and the yoli made it too risky. Its hallucinations should be self-sustaining for some hours to come if

nothing happened to disturb it seriously. She had to avoid disturbing it in resuming contact with Osselin, which

meant working with complete precision. A fumble at long range could jolt the creature out of its dreams and into

another defensive reaction.

She didn’t know what effect that would have on Osselin, but at the very least it might give him the idea to equip

himself with a mind shield as a further safeguard until they’d dealt with the telepath. She’d be stopped then.

She had to be there, with Osselin, to be sure of what she was doing. If she got in touch with him and told him

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T’nTTELZEY&TRIGGERTheCompleteFederationoftheHubVolume2JAMESH.SCHMITZEDITEDBYERICFLINTco-editedbyGuyGordonFout!Onbekendeschakeloptie-instructie.Thisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.“CompanyPlanet”fir...

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