"Sid," he called. "Come into my office." Luckman sat back in his chair, puffed on his after-breakfast delicado Mexican cigarette.

His secretary, non-Bindman Sid Mosk, opened the office door and put his head in. "Yes, Mr. Luckman."

"Bring me that pre-cog," Luckman said. "I've finally got a use for him." A use, he thought, which justifies the risk of disbarment from The Game. "What's his name? Dave Mutreaux or something." Luckman had a hazy memory of interviewing the pre-cog, but a man of his position saw so many people every day. And after all, New York City was well-populated; almost fifteen thousand souls. And many were children, hence new. "Make sure he comes up a back way," Luckman said. "I don't want anybody to see him." He had his reputation to maintain. And this was a touchy situation.

It was illegal, of course, to bring a person with Psionic

talents to The Game, because Psi, in terms of Game-playing, represented a form of cheating pure and simple. For years, EEGs, electroencephalograms, had been given customarily by many groups, but this practice had died out. At least, Luck-man hoped so. Certainly, it was done no longer in the East, because all the Psi-people were known, and the East set the style for the whole country, did it not?

One of Luckman's cats, a gray and white short-haired tom, hopped onto his desk; he absently scratched the cat's chin, thinking to himself, If I can't work that pre-cog into the Pretty Blue Fox group, I think I'll go myself. True, he hadn't played The Game in a year or more... but he had been the best player around. How else could he have become the Bindman for Greater New York City? And there had been strong competition in those days. Competition which Luckman had rendered non-B single-handedly.