Many telepaths loved that instantaneous fear they inspired in total strangers. They got off on it and were 

disappointed if a person’s psyche didn’t cower before them. Gray only found it depressing.

With his guard down, he was struck by a mind-scan so severe that it staggered him. If it hadn’t been for the Martian gravity, which bounced him harmlessly off a wall, he would’ve fallen to the floor.

“Are you all right?” asked the guard as she grabbed Gray’s elbow and steadied him.

“Yes, yes,” he rasped, trying to clear his head. Who the hell had done that to him?

A small, middle-aged man in a black uniform stepped from behind a pillar. He smiled, trying to look friendly, but he only succeeded in looking heartless.

“Your friend will look after you,” said the guard cheerfully, literally pushing Gray into the man’s gloved hands.

“So pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Bester without speaking a word.

Gray blinked in amazement and answered telepathically, “I didn’t expect you to meet me personally, Mr. Bester.”

“You’ll find,” said the Psi Cop in spoken words, “that I believe in the axiom ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself.’ “

Gray almost protested over the way he had been scanned without permission, or warning for that matter. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Bester was above the law, if anyone was, although he preferred to work from behind pillars and politicians, not in front of them. In a privileged class, Bester was the most privileged.

Harriman Gray was a slight man, and he took some comfort in the fact that Mr. Bester was no taller than he. In fact, without the considerable amount of hair that Bester possessed, he might have been even shorter.

The Psi Cop frowned. “Yes, but I’m a P12, and you’re only a P1O.”