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you can project your own thoughts. You must be one of the most potent telepaths in the human galaxy.
    I’m not human! the weasel retorted.
    I didn’t think you were. But you are in the human galaxy.
    The weasel galaxy!
    Do weasels build spaceships?
    You are too smart for me.
    But you’ve got my number, you cute little huntress. Aloud he said: “Hermine does seem pretty smart. If she’s not a double mute—telepathy and intelligence—what is she?”
    “She’s a full telepath—receive and transmit. A single mutation, but a potent one. Most telepaths are partial, being either readers or senders, with varying degrees of proficiency. In range of a human mind—her range is three or four meters, the power varying inversely with distance—she draws on the intelligence of that human mind, much as we draw on the abilities of computers. By herself, she is ordinary weasel intelligence.”
    “Fascinating. Did you pick up our mental conversation Just now?”
    No.
    “No,” Finesse echoed. “She transmits on a narrow band, mind-to-mind. Close up she can send to anyone; from a distance she must target a particular mind, one she knows well. She can receive from a familiar mind at greater distances. But the other party has to be consciously projecting, and Hermine has to work at it. Right now she’s in touch with you, not me; I have no idea what secrets you two are exchanging.”
    Is that true, Hermine?
    Half true, Knot. She isn’t receiving, but she’s guessing.
    I don’t want her to know my secret, Knot thought with a mental picture of a human face with a closed zipper in lieu of the mouth.
    Nice man. Funny man. I won’t tell. But she will know. She’s very smart. Her thoughts are like the teeth of a carnosaur.
    “I don’t need to be a telepath to figure that out,” Finesse said, frowning prettily. “You’re making a deal to hide your paranormal power from me. But I’ll have it anyway.”
    “So Hermine tells me. But you already have the leadmuter, who is potentially far more valuable to you than I could ever be. Can’t you settle for that?”
    “Let the animals play,” she said. “They’ll be all right.”
    Mit feels no threat, Hermine agreed. Put us on the ground.
    Knot put his hands to the ground, and both weasel and crab moved into the grass.
    Now Finesse leaned forward, treating him once more to the glimpse of her frontal charms. Her eyes were large and green, the prettiest Knot had seen in a long time. She was a marvel of appearance, and obviously knew it, and used her physical attributes to sway his mind. Knot was aware of all this, yet felt the impact. She was deliberately making him want her, and the strategy was working.
    “I am here to interview you,” she said. “The leadmuter was only a pretext. I’m not really an auditor; I’m a scout. The Coordination Computer is looking for someone, and suspects you may be that one.”
    “How did CC catch on that I have mental mutancy? I thought I had escaped detection.”
    “You are the son of a man who traveled in space within a year before you were born. That made you a potential mutant. The sperm of the male is affected by the radiation of deep space, so that for up to three months thereafter, until the affected reservoir is used up, the offspring—”
    “And I am a mutant, as is plainly evident,” Knot said. He put his hands together, making obvious the disparity in their sizes and configurations. “Here I am working in a mutant enclave, doing a satisfactory Job—”
    “More than satisfactory,” she said. “Enclave MM58 is, as you surmised, number one on the index for client adjustment. That points right to the placement officer.”
    “So I’m doing a good job, then. An excellent job, a superlative job—whatever you will. I happen to have empathy, a feel for the needs of mutants, and I like my work. I like helping people. This is no psi-power; it is just personality and inclination and effort. And luck. Next year some other enclave will be