Chapter Two

WHEN DORLAND DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING, THE MAN

crossed the room in three long strides and dropped into one of the chairs across from Paul. He was a big, round-shouldered man with skin that was lined and creased from exposure to the elements. His eyelids drooped, giving him a look of haughty superciliousness. His hair was thin and sunbleached. He seemed relaxed and at ease—much different from the way he had looked in the auditorium. The brown coveralls he wore looked as if he'd slept in them three days running.

He glanced at the door, then waved the gun.

"Better lock that."

Paul hesitated, thinking about Hendrikson just outside. Then his eyes went back to the gun. It was small and black, with a bulbous muzzle and a large cylinder just above the handle grip that might have been the power supply. Paul wasn't familiar with the style, but the gun looked capable enough in the man's hand to make him decide against the idea that had half formed in his head. He pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the room to 21

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touch the thermal dimple beside the door. The lock slid home with a soft whir.

After Paul returned to his chair, the man's eyes went back to Dorland.

"My name is Selmer Ogram. Maybe you remember me." He spoke Basic with an accent that favored lilting vowels and light consonants. When Dorland didn't respond, he shrugged. "Or maybe not. I was just a kid when you left Clarion. My father was John Ogram." He paused again as if he expected the name to have an impact. "He was killed at the Troy Three interchange a few months after he took you out. Deacon Krause got him." Still Dorland remained silent. He stood stiffly near the open window, staring at Ogram, his face drawn with lines of tension. Ogram's statements meant nothing to Paul. He had worked for Dorland Avery for nearly five years and had never heard him mention the name Ogram or a place called Clarion. But it was clear that Ogram's words were touching something inside Dorland.

"It would help if you told us what this is all about," Paul said.

Ogram shifted his hooded eyes. "Who are you?"

"Paul Jurick. I'm Mr. Avery's business manager." Ogram chuckled.

"Something funny about that?"

"Dorland Avery, the great psi-player." Ogram shook his head. "Coming here was a waste of time as far as I'm concerned."

"Feel free to leave," Paul suggested. Ogram grinned crookedly. "Can't. Not till I've done my duty."

"You still haven't told us what that is. Your friend nearly killed Mr. Avery back there in the auditorium."

"Deacon Bekman is no friend of mine," Ogram