Paul leaned forward, staring at the pale form in the screen. "Ted, are you hurt?"
"No, no. But oh, god!"
"It couldn't have been just another Psi-High contacting you? It's deadly important, Ted—"
Marino shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no. It couldn't have been. I've been in Psi-High contact enough to know what it's like. This was different. It was like he'd lifted off my skull and scooped out my brains."
Faircloth lit a smoke, trembling. "Did you try to fight it?"
The man nodded. "I tried. He was clear in before I knew what had happened, but I tried. I—I think it puzzled him. It didn't do any good at all. He just brushed it aside."
"Ted," said Faircloth. "Now listen. Forget about it. Don't write up a report. Don't even think about it. As far as you're concerned, the job is over. Get dressed, and travel south—down to Florida, Rio, any old place, it doesn't matter where, just go. Use an expense account and have yourself the time of your life."
Marino's eyes opened in amazement. "Are you crazy? I thought this was what—"
"It is. Do what I say and don't worry about it. You're finished on this job. When you've gotten a good rest come back to the Hoffman Center and take up your training with Dr. Abrams where you left off." Paul flipped the switch and turned back to the room, his heart pounding a staccato cadence in his throat. He grinned triumphantly and began to pack his bag.
The chase was on, but this time, the mouse was chasing the cat.