"I told you I had guests. We're entertaining. No
thanks, Maragon."

"A Normal is being crucified," I said quietly. "They've got her pegged
as a Psi. I've got to get her off the hook."

"How could this happen?" he demanded.

"She hangs with a bunch of Stigma cases, for one thing," I said.

"Nobody forced her to associate with a gang of Psis," he said. "Serves
her right."

"Nobody forced you to, either, Prof," I snarled. "But you have a
steady stream of Stigma cases going through your laboratory."

"That's different!" he protested.

"Nuts. Now name a time when I can see you there."

"I don't want any part of it. If you're along, it will just mean
trouble, Maragon. You got too much publicity on defending that TK
locksmith. I've got a professional standing to maintain."

"You'd sure look silly if all the Psis in town blackballed you," I
snarled at him. "Let me pass the word around--and you darned well know
I've got the contacts to do it--and you've tested your last Stigma
case. Then let's see what kind of a professional standing you've got."

He knew some pretty dirty words. "What time?" I pressed him, knowing
the profanity was a confession of defeat.

"Not before eleven," he said glumly. "I won't forget this, Maragon."

"What the hell," I said. "I'm on every S-list in town already. You
hardly count beside the other enemies I'm making." I cut the image.

As if at a signal, there was a tapping on the door to the corridor. I
got out of my swivel, walked into the waiting room and opened up. The
man who stood there was faintly familiar--but it was the gun in his
fist that got most of my attention.

"Maragon?" he asked softly.

I spread my feet a little. "I knew I was making enemies pretty fast,"
I said to him. "But I didn't know how strongly. Listen," I snapped,
"I'll bet one thing never occurred to you."

He was taken back. You're not supposed to snarl at a guy who pokes a
gun at you. In theory it gives him the edge of any conversation.
"Huh?" he said.

"The only thing that lousy pop-gun of yours is good for is shooting
people. I don't think you came here to shoot me. Now what can you do?"

"Clown," he growled. "Where's Renner?"

"In bed, if he has any sense," I decided. "Make up your mind. Whom do
you want?"

"For Pete's sake," he said. "Grammar at a time like this!" He looked
down at his gun, decided I was right, and stuck it in a shoulder
holster. Then his wrist came up in front of his mouth and I