"Unless we have something entirely new." "That's been the pattern so far." "I think we're both coming to the same conclusion." "Find out if the murderer used the picture from the paper?" "Mmm. If he did, Administrator Esponito was probably attacked on the spur of the moment. And we should be seeing who wanted to kill Bedler." "What about Manager Kurt?" "Have Lee call the Baltimore police while I try to locate the murder weapon. At least they can search his home for drugs." * * * * * George went back to the parlor and Sordman stripped to his yellow vest. From the pockets of his morning coat he removed a leather case and a tiny plastic package. Unfolded, the plastic became a thin red robe with a yellow bomb-burst on the back. He called it his battle robe. Habit played a big part in the development of Talent. The same clothing, the same ritualized movements, helped put his mind in the proper state. He filled a hypodermic with a pink liquid and jabbed the needle into his wrist. As the drug took effect, he knelt to pray. "Grant me, God, the strength to bind the demons in my mind." He stood up. At this point many Talents danced. Sordman loved to use his body, but ritual dancing made him feel ridiculous. It had been proven, however, that the Power flowed at its freest when the body was occupied, so he took three colored balls from the case and started juggling. The balls soared higher and faster. He mumbled a hymn. His voice grew stronger. He roared his love of life at the world. The wall between his conscious and unconscious mind collapsed. Lightning flashed in his eyes. Colors sang in his brain. Walls, floor, table, chairs became extensions of his mind. They danced with the balls between his hands. The Universe and he flowed together like a sea of molten iron. His hands, miles from his mind, fumbled in the case. The balls danced and bobbed in the air. He laughed and unfolded his divining rod. The furniture bounced. Mylady Esponito screamed. All Creation is a flow. Dance, you parts of me, you living things, you atoms of my dust! He had torn Esponito's photo from a newspaper. Now he let the colored balls drop and stuck the picture on the end of the rod. "This and that are one in kind. Servant rod, find me that!" He stretched out the rod and turned on his heels. He sang and blanked his mind and listened to the tremors in his hands. Stop. Back right. Now the left. Too far. Down. Correct left.... Here! He pressed a button on the rod. A tripod sprang out. A pair of sights flipped up. Carefully he sighted down the rod, out through the window-wall beside the table, to a grove of trees in the park. * * * * *