“Of course,” Blanding said. “All government spotters are telepaths. How else could they find their quarry?” Abruptly a searing, wide-open blast of hate, fear and anger washed over Brandt. So intense was it that he staggered from the shock. Instantly Ellen put her arm about his waist to steady him. As he leaned heavily against her he dimly heard from a far-off cavern of echoes, the sound of voices. “The fool!” Blanding shouted. “Doesn’t he realize that Brandt can’t shield himself? Does he _want_ to kill him?” “You know how ruthless they are,” Ellen said. “They’d do _anything_ to prevent us from adding to our strength. Come on,” she urged. “We’ve got to get him away from here!” The hate impulses poured in upon Brandt again and again. Mechanically, unconsciously, he allowed Ellen to steer him along the walk to the North Terminal. Her warmth and sympathetic nearness gave him partial shelter from the raging storm of powerful emotion that was driving down upon him like a slashing torrent. “Get in!” Blanding ordered, holding open the door of a cab. He obeyed mechanically. Ellen climbed in beside him, and Blanding followed. As soon as they were seated, Blanding worked the throttle and they took off. As they sped away from the city, the turmoil in Brandt’s mind grew less acute. Full consciousness returned and he was aware of the tumultuous and conflicting impulses that still lingered, subdued under the blanketing balm of empathy he felt coming from Ellen. He looked out through the window of the helojet. The night-black countryside was dotted with thousands of tiny lights--the suburban homes of the city workers. The lights wheeled and dipped and air-marker lamps traced out a huge figure nine and an arrow pointing northward toward the spaceport nine hundred miles away. Directly south of the marker patterns lay the immense blackness of the empty city. Brandt turned to Blanding. “Where--where are we going?” he asked. “I told you. We’re taking you to join the others.” “But _where?_” Blanding smiled. “There’s no harm telling you now,” he said. “We’re taking you to the Asylum. You’ll join the other thousands of telepaths we’ve taken into custody. You’ll be safe there. Safety for you and--safety for the government.” Brandt shouted. “Then that man was right!” He twisted around, in sudden, unbelieving horror. “You _are_ from the government.” His muscles tensed for an instant as he leaned toward Blanding. Then he hesitated, puzzlement spreading across his face. _Trust me, Neville!_ Blanding laughed. “That’s all right, Ellen. He’s a big boy now. You can drop the act.” He sneered at Brandt. “That’s right, Neville. We’re spotters. There are two kinds of telepaths, you see--idealistic fools like you and government spotters like us. The idealists end up behind the bars of the Asylums.” Brandt stared incredulously at the man he had worked with and trusted completely. He was like a different man now. He seemed to exude arrogance and contempt.