He sat up, shaking his head to clear it.  “No, but really—­what do you think of that idea?  What if I had a telepather, and I could link minds with Horng?  Straight linkage, no interpreter in the middle.  I could get right at that race memory myself!”

“I think you need some sleep,” she said.  She seemed worried.  “You’re getting too wrapped up in this thing.  And forget about the telepathers.”

Rynason looked at her and grinned.  “Why?” he said quietly.  “There’s no harm in wishing.”

“Because,” she said, “we’ve got three telepathers coming in the day after tomorrow.”

THREE

Rynason continued to smile at her for several seconds, until her words penetrated.  Then he abruptly sat up and steadied himself with one hand against the edge of the table.

“Can you get one for me?”

She gave a reluctant shrug.  “If you insist, and if Manning okays it.  But is it a good idea?  Direct contact with a mind so alien?”

As a matter of fact, now that he was faced with the actual possibility of it, he wasn’t so sure.  But he said, “We’ll only know once we’ve tried it.”

Mara dropped her eyes and swirled her drink, watching the tiny red spots form inside the glass and rise to the surface.  There was a brief silence between them.

“Repent, Lee Rynason!” The words burst upon his ears over the waves of sound that filled the room.  He turned, half-rising, to find Rene Malhomme hovering over him, his wide grin showing a tooth missing in the bottom row.

Rynason settled back into his chair.  “Don’t shout.  I’m going to have a headache soon enough.”

Malhomme took the chair which Manning had vacated and sat in it heavily.  He set his hand-lettered placard against the edge of the table and leaned forward, waving a thick finger.

“You consort with men who would enslave the pure in heart!” he rumbled, but Rynason didn’t miss the laughter in his eye.

“Manning?” he nodded.  “He’d enslave every pure heart on this planet, if he could find one.  As a matter of fact, I think he’s already working on Mara here.”

Malhomme turned to her and sat back, appraising her boldly.  Mara met his gaze calmly, raising her eyebrows slightly as she waited for his verdict.

Malhomme shook his head.  “If she’s pure, then it’s a sin,” he said.  “A thrice-damned sin, Lee.  Have I ever expostulated to you upon the Janus-coin that is good and evil?”

“Often,” Rynason said.

Malhomme shrugged and turned again to the girl.  “Nevertheless,” he said, “I greet you with pleasure.”

“Mara, this is Rene Malhomme,” Rynason said wearily.  “He imagines that we’re friends, and I’m afraid he’s right.”

Malhomme dipped his shaggy head.  “The name is from the Old French of Earth—­badman.  I have a long and dishonorable family history, but the earliest of my ancestors whom I’ve been able to trace had the same name.  Apparently there were too many Smiths, Carpenters, Bakers and Priests on that world—­the time was ripe for a Malhomme.  My first name would have been pronounced Reh-nay before the language reform dropped all accent marks from Earth tongues.”