percent of the known psis showed thirty
on the payroll for this fiscal year.

Despite their rumored emotional instability, he knew that they were
clever and he would steer clear of them in the present stages of his
transaction. Although his idea wasn't unethical, the so far closely
kept secret would be out if BEB investigated. Then anybody could cut
in. BEB advertised whatever it did on its video show, "Your
Developing Earth."

So, he needed a lawyer who could act for him personally, now, and
steer his project clear of the government service psis. But where to
find a psis....

* * * * *

Of course! Bob Standskill! Standskill had helped him once years before
when he had had that trouble with the Corporation Stock Control Board
over a doubtful issue of securities he had floated to build Mojave
City out of desert wastes. Without Standskill's techniques he never
would have put that issue across. Standskill could handle this if
anyone could.

Lawrence reached to the visiphone, punched the button sequence of
Standskill's office number. The bell rang interminably before a rather
bored young voice said, "Offices of Standskill and Rich,
Attorneys-at-Law."

"I know," Lawrence said harshly. "I don't button wrong numbers. Is
Standskill there? And where's your courtesy? There's no visual."

The picture came in then. Lawrence caught a flash of long, skinny legs
going down behind the desk at the other end of the circuit; then he
saw a most remarkable thing--the open collar of the young man's shirt
seemed suddenly to button itself and the knot of the gaudy tie to
tighten and all the while the fellow's hands were lying immobile on
the desk!

_Impossible!_ Lawrence thought. _I'm cracking up! Too many worries
about the psis ... I think I see them everywhere!_

As the youth gulped as though the tie was knotted too tightly,
Lawrence was sure that he saw the knot relax itself!

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Standskill's on vacation and Mr. Rich is
in court. May I help you, sir, or take a message?"

Undoubtedly the fellow had recognized him from news fotos.

"Well, who are you, the office boy?"

A frown of annoyance crossed the young man's thin, dark features. He
snapped, "Are corporation presidents exempt from common courtesy? My
name is Black--Martin J. Black. I'm not connected with this firm. I
answered as a courtesy. Shall we disconnect?"

Lawrence was silent for a moment. He thought of t