It was a little after nine when I walked into the lobby and rang for the elevator. A man lounging against the wall over near the building directory raised a wrist-phone to his mouth and spoke quietly into it as I waited for the car to come. He didn't seem to be interested in me—but then, he wouldn't want to show it if he were. Fool around with the Stigma, would I?
The building was mostly dark—in our circle we make too much dough to be interested in overtime. I keyed myself into our waiting room, turned on the ceiling, and went into my private office. There was enough light leaking in from our foyer, so I added none.
I found Lindstrom at home—after all, he should have been by nine o'clock. "Maragon!" he said. "Kill your focus. I have guests!"
I reached up to twist the 'scope so that my image would be a blur on his screen. Nice beginning. I was as welcome as a thriving case of leprosy.
"I want you to make a test for me, Professor," I said. "Tonight."
He shook his head. "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."