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run.
“We were only trying to survive. One of us didn’t make it. But not because of Plague.”
    Amir seemed not to have noticed her change in mood.
    â€œDid you know you’re a case study?” she asked.
    â€œWhat, the five of us on Gadrah? An Oversight how-not-to-do-it study, or something?”
    â€œNo, no! You personally. In a medical text. It came up when I was talking to a physician friend once about cross-infection from alien species. He said there was only one known case. You got a knife cut on Zeig-Daru and it became infected, am I correct?”
    It had happened on a Zeigan spacecraft in a knife fight to the death.
    â€œClose enough.”
    â€œTopical infection of subject’s right arm. Something like that.”
    â€œAmir, they had to take my arm apart and regenerate out from the bone! Does that sound like a topical infection to you?”
    Amir thought something like,
Oops!
    Hanna sighed. “Amir, I’m sorry. These things we’ve been talking about—I have some bad memories. Can we talk about something else? What did you want to see me about before I go to the archives?”
    â€œThe archivist,” Amir said. She almost patted the bench beside her, a subliminal soothing motion. Hanna had gotten up at some point, at one of the painful jabs to memory, without being aware of it. She went back and sat down again.
    Amir said, “He’s really a nice man—one of those big-bear types. Loves his archives. And his tea—oh, my, how he loves his tea! He made the jump to Standard right away, and the translation programs for the archives got done twice as fast as they would have without his help. He’s been grumbling a little lately. Sort of growling! I don’t think,” she laughed, “he was used to working quite so hard, especially over such a sustained period. He wasn’t really pleased when your department’s request came in. ‘What!’” Amir tried to growl. “‘On top of all this other extra work I have to do these days?’ You know the attitude I mean?”
    â€œI certainly do. I’ve felt that way myself from time to time.”
    â€œI guess we all have. Anyway, he wasn’t thrilled about your coming here, but he was prepared to be helpful. Until last night.”
    Amir was suddenly wary. Something in Hanna twitched. She said, “What exactly happened last night?”
    â€œSomeone dropped a remark—well, it was me, actually. Just in passing. I said, oh, by the way, the woman who’s coming is D’neeran. And he said, what’s that? So I explained about D’neera.”
    â€œAnd he hates me,” Hanna said.
    â€œWell, yes.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Even though she was forewarned, Chain Charpentier’s hostility hit Hanna like a fist. She stammered for the first time in years, and she was only trying to introduce herself.
    â€œI know who you are,” he said. He thought:
I know what you are, too.
    â€œMr. Charpentier,” she said, “what do you think I am?”
    â€œThat!” he said triumphantly. A stubby forefinger poked at the air in her direction. “You read my mind just now. Didn’t you?”
    â€œMr. Charpentier,” she said, “I could hardly help it. Do you know how strongly you’re projecting? Would you kindly stop projecting? And may I have a cup of tea?”
    â€œI’m doing
what?
” he said, and added, “I’m not working with you. And no tea!”
    The tea-making apparatus was in a corner of the archivist’s office. Hanna went to it, calculating dates in her head. The ancestors of these people, otherwise apparently free of prejudice, had left Earth at a time when hostility to telepaths had become vicious. And nothing had happened to their descendants here, in their isolation, to add to their knowledge or change their minds.
    Hanna started to make tea. Charpentier, stunned by