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careful screening by the Auditions Council, part of the large network of subofficers called the Underfriends.
    Chivon Lasster took great pride and satisfaction in her position. In this neo-Platonic determinist form of government that held the Federated Empire together, the position of Overfriend was the only career one could choose to strive for. Every other social and occupational niche was either genetically or behavioristically preprogrammed. There were plenty of levels of accomplishment within every Calling; achievement and drive were the stuff that fed the energy and motivational drive of the Macrostate. Still, becoming an Overfriend was a rare distinction for an individual, and Chivon privately reveled in her victory—particularly since it gave her the leverage she needed if she was ever to find Tars Northern.
    “Sometimes,” she told Overfriend Zarpfrin after Laura Shemzak had left, “I wonder if we are not too arch, too tricky for our own good.”
    “Pardon?” said Zarpfrin, looking up from a study of documents called up from the central computer.
    “I mean, there really was no good reason for me to put up any opposition to the woman’s volunteering. After all, she’s perfect for the mission, and she’s come forward exactly at the time we need her. She’s playing right into our hands.”
    “Precisely,” said the meticulously groomed man. “Didn’t you read the psychoprofile? If we were too cooperative, she’s the sort who would be suspicious. Let us just say that all we have done today is to provide an illusory barrier for Laura Shemzak to break through.”
    “Psychoprofile … I only glanced at it, I’m afraid,” said Friend Lasster. “Just gleaned something of her background, and that she’s a remarkable blip-ship pilot. Which quite surprises me, considering her generally unrefined qualities, her reckless air—she must hide a great deal in ordinary person-to-person dealings. In fact, Overfriend, she seems to me to be far too impetuous, too impulsive to be a logical choice for a Calling of such importance in our military.”
    Zarpfrin shook his head. “You should take a moment to study that profile as well as the girl’s record. Not only is it fascinating, it’s also highly entertaining. Suffice it to say that Laura has mental capacities far enough away from the norm to border on the psychic. Add to those the impetuous and impulsive—and decisive!—nature you have taken note of, and you have a powerful agent in unpredictable situations, where action is necessary immediately.”
    “You mean she hardly even thinks about what she’s doing?”
    “Not consciously, certainly. Her decisions are incredibly quick. Add a mind able to grasp all she needs for piloting our experimental XT’s on a subconscious level, and you have a top agent in the field.”
    “I don’t know, Zarpfrin. She seems awfully slow to pick up on some things—cocky, maybe, but often just stupid.”
    “You forget how young she is, Friend Lasster. Her success in the field is not built on hard-gained wisdom, nor on a great deal of knowledge, but on the qualities I have previously described, plus a large measure of self-confidence. As to her coarse nature: that was picked up to survive among the ruffians in the Space Force. She’s changed since she was selected for blip-ship training—different posture, accent, world view. What remains is her devotion to her brother—which we are using to our benefit, as you can see.”
    “Still, it’s hard to imagine her as one of our top Intelligence agents!”
    Zarpfrin smiled with genuine amusement. “Let’s just say that on the occasions when her hunches are wrong, the results are monumentally catastrophic. But she is rarely totally wrong, though I must say she’s landed in some ungodly situations! The entertaining aspect of her profile I spoke of—”
    “The mission is as near-impossible as the readout indicates?”
    “Deadly,” said Zarpfrin, standing and smoothing his