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first steps on the road to madness. He knew because there was always more truth in emotions than in words.
    Still running easily, he turned up a gently sloping side street. Maybe they’d continue straight, believing he was headed for the waterfront and a faster means of escape. It would be a logical assumption. The occasional passing pedestrian glanced in his direction, drawn to him more by his height and haste than the almost invisible minidrag coiled securely about his shoulder. Samstead was not a fast-paced world. It was unusual to see anyone running in the center of the capital.
    He passed entrances to office towers and residential complexes, knowing he’d have to present appropriate identification to gain entry to the smallest of them. Tuleon might be a relatively easygoing metropolis, but crime was not unknown within its boundaries.
    The meretricious facade of a hotel beckoned. Too obvious, he decided, and ran on. He needed someplace less conspicuous. In ancient times a bank would have afforded some safety, but such things no longer existed. Money and credit were largely abstract components of computer storage space, to be manipulated electronically. That was a refuge he could not enter.
    Then he saw the building, a stark triangle whose bladed crest topped out at a modest six stories. The familiar emblem, hourglass-on-globe on a field of green, was emblazoned over the always unlocked entrance. Gratefully lengthening his stride, he ascended the curving ramp and entered.
    Once inside, he slowed to a respectful walk. The sanctuary was empty save for a couple of elderly supplicants. One was on her knees before the altar, praying before a brilliant depth depiction of swirling nebulae and galaxies. The reality injection was two stories tall and rendered in exquisite, awe-inspiring detail. In conjunction with the subdued, concealed illumination, it imparted to the vaulted sanctuary an air of eternal peace and reassurance. Natural light fell from tinted windows high overhead.
    He’d visited the sanctuaries of the United Church before, though never to attend formal services. No doubt there were several dozen similar sites scattered throughout the city. He was tempted to settle into one of the comfortable seats. At this point even the several thranx body lounges looked inviting. But he decided to move on. The sanctuary itself was too open.
    Without warning, the persistent fury he identified with Coerlis vanished. That was his damned talent, flickering in and out like a short in his brain. He eyed the entrance uneasily, unable to tell now if Coerlis and his minions were still pursuing or if they’d taken a different turning. The warning wail of emotion in his mind had winked out, and strain as he might, he knew there was no way he could simply turn it back on.
    He glanced down at Pip. Have to keep an eye on her now, he knew. Unlike his own erratic abilities, hers were the result of natural evolution. She was on permanent alert. The trouble was, she was not intelligent enough to sort out hostility directed specifically at him. Detection usually went hand in hand with physical proximity, by which time it was often too late to run. But unless his talent reasserted itself, she was all he had to warn him of Coerlis’s possible presence.
    He looked to his left. If tradition held, there would be a row of library reading rooms there. He could lock himself inside, but while providing privacy and some security, that would also eliminate all avenues of flight. This wouldn’t do, he told himself. He was too exposed in the open sanctuary.
    Choosing a hallway off to the right and adopting the attitude of one who knew what he was doing, he abandoned the worship center. Small glowing letters hovered before successive doors, rising or descending as he approached until they were exactly at eye level. Some identified individuals, others specific departments.
    Avoiding the lift, he took some fire stairs two at a time until he reached the third