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I picked it up with shaky hands, and put it into my pocket. And then I got out of that room fast.
    He didn’t try to question me again. That was the last time he interviewed me, and Goba complained louder than ever when they got me back.
    But then a couple of days later Goba came into the lab with a stranger: someone who looked like he’d probably come sealed in plastic-everything about him was so neat, so plain, so mass-produced. The stranger looked me over and said, “So you’re the shadow walker who beat up three Contract Labor recruiters?” I stood and glared at him. He smiled at me; it made his face look human. (Think you can take me too, telepath?) I heard it, but this time he hadn’t opened his mouth: the words formed inside my head-his thought, not mine, and I wasn’t even trying to read his mind. He was a telepath.
    “God’s teeth!” I held my head, looking back at Goba. Goba just smiled like a sadist and left us alone.
    I put a table between the stranger and me, and wove my thoughts into a shield. No human had ever been inside my mind like this before-it was like a tumor of thought growing in my brain. The feeling made my stomach turn over. “You keep out of my mind, freak, or I’ll show you what I can do.” I held up a fist.
    “Take it easy.” He spoke it normally, this time. He looked nervous, which made me feel better. “Pull in your claws, Cat. I’m not here to-“
    “I ain’t an animal, you piece of meat!” I brought my fist down on the table. “I’m a human, even if they don’t treat me like it around here.”
    His face changed. “My apologies.” He nodded, glancing down. He looked soft, like somebody who didn’t get any exercise. His dark hair was pulled back and fastened at the base of his neck, the way half a million other people wore it. It was like he’d done everything he could to make himself ordinary. His eyebrows were dark and smooth, like feathers; his eyes were a gold-flecked green when he looked up again. “I didn’t mean to patronize you, and I guess I did. I’m sure they’ve made your life more unpleasant than you had any right to expect when you came here. Just between us, it was meant to be that way. It’s all a part of the . . . uh, research. It helps to know those things; it puts it all in perspective. Doesn’t it?”
    I stared at him, trying to figure out what he’d just told me, and what the hell he was doing here. “Who are you?”
    “My name is Derezady Cortelyou. I work for Seleusid Interstellar as a corporate telepath. I’m also a volunteer in psionic research, like you. I’m here to help you work on your own telepathy.”
    I sat down at the table and rested my head in my hands. It hurt, as usual. “Jeezu. That’s all I need.”
    He sat down across from me, picked up the stack of cards with symbols on them that I was always having to “see,” and shuffled through them. But he didn’t start playing head games; he didn’t even talk about telepathy. He talked about the weather-about everything but psi. I didn’t say anything. Finally, as if he’d run out of ideas, he pulled out a pack of camphs and put one of them into his mouth. I felt my own mouth start to water. My fingers twitched.
    He glanced at me, but he didn’t offer me one. He just sighed, and I could feel how good it felt. . . .
    “Gimme one of those?” I tried to make it sound casual.
    He smiled and flipped one across the table.
    I stuck it into my mouth and bit down on the end of it. The bitterness numbed my tongue. I swallowed, letting it deaden my throat, knowing that soon enough it would ease the tension all through my body. I sighed, like he had.
    “Been a while since you’ve had one?” His voice prodded me, but only a little.
    I didn’t care. I nodded. “Seems like forever.” Knowing there was no way I could get out of it, I finally began to relax and let the conversation happen. He held his mind loose and unprotected all the while-I could have walked right into it and