“Winnie, don’t you get any bulletins from Security?” Opperly asked incredulously “Or from the FBL?”

Garnett shook his big head. “Not for the past ten years. Esp’s so unpopular that even the government’s forgot us.”

“I see,” Opperly said, his eyes glittering with interest. “In that case you haven’t read anything about a mutant creature described as a green cat, that’s believed to have super-human parapsychological powers and to have caused officials to go over to Russia and do all sorts of other things described as crazy? The public hasn’t been told, but all the higher echelons – scientists, doctors, psychiatrists – have been getting bulletins on the subject, demanding that they report anything they know or have heard about a green cat. Even I’ve been told a little.”

“Can you beat it,” Garnett said disgustedly, “something involving esp and they consult everyone but us.” Then he turned to Opperly like a man waking up. “Do you mean to suggest that this creature is responsible for the esp results we’ve been getting?”

Opperly nodded. “I do.”

“But how, why?”

Opperly shrugged happily. “I don’t know. I’ve merely been making some of those farfetched guesses I’ve warned my young journalist friends about.” And he smiled at Phil and da Silva.

“Guesses!” Garnett said. “Well, we’ll soon find out.” And he started past them toward the front end of the hall, his big feet stirring dust from the ancient carpet. “We’ll have a look at this animal and see what we think about it. Miss Ames -!” he started to call, and then suddenly his face went half out of this world again and he stopped in midstride. “She thinks the same,” he said softly and so astonishedly that even Phil knew he must be esping. “She agrees with you, Op.” The big face seemed to go a little further out of the world. “In fact, they all do. Practically everybody at the Foundation.” The big face seemed to go out almost all the way, while the voice sank to a faint murmur. “In fact, you’re right.”

The door opened at the front end of the hall and a long nosed young lady in a lab smock stepped out and nodded gently at Garnett. Her brow smoothed and her eyes half closed, as if she were esping something to him, then she seemed to notice that there were visitors around. “Would you care to see this green animal with your outer eyes?” she asked.

“We sure would, Ginny,” Garnett told her and started forward again. Phil wanted to burst out with all his information about Lucky, but da Silva forestalled him.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Think you understand better I supposed. Sorry underrate you. Best to tell you now -”

At that moment Lucky ambled out of the door from which Ginny had emerged. He strode lazily, like a self-confident green god. The long nosed girl closed the door behind him. Phil felt his spirits splurge suddenly, happily, familiarly.

Akeley squeezed Phil’s upper arm. “It ishe!”

And almost at the same moment, a voice commanded from behind them, “Break to either side, everybody.”

Phil obeyed the command and so did all the others.

Dave Greeley was standing at the head of the stairs. The representative of the FBL was looking both knowledgeable and competent, though even more gray haired and anxious than last night.

He nodded quickly at Opperly, said, “Pardon me, doctor,” then leveled his stun-gun between the ranks of men crowding the wail and punched the trigger. But his nerves couldn’t have been as good as Phil thought they were, for instead of the green cat collapsing, Miss Ames pitched over on her face, gasping wonderingly, “My leg – I can’t feel it!”

Greeley grimaced and re-directed his stun-gun, as the dust mushroomed up from the carpet around Miss Ames. But at the same moment Phil felt the golden wave billowing out from Lucky. Greeley ’s face turned red and his fingers stiffly uncurled from the gun, as if invisible hands were prying them away, and it dropped to the floor.

At that moment another voice behind them, languorous and scornful, said, “Stay where you are, gentlemen. It would be dangerous to move your hands.”

Dora Pannes stood at the head of the stairs. The violet blonde was simply dressed in a gray frock, while a large handbag swung carelessly from her shoulder, but she looked rather more beautiful than last night. In her slender hand was a great big ortho.

Phil didn’t feet at all frightened, although a vague memory nagged momentarily at his mind. He knew she couldn’t hurt anyone while Lucky was there. He was more interested in the reactions of the others.

But with one exception there weren’t any reactions.

The exception was da Silva. He was staring at Dora Pannes with a hungry adoration.

Meanwhile the violet blonde was walking forward in a most business-like way. She didn’t even glance at da Silva. As she passed Greeley, her free hand snatched sidewise like a lizard’s tongue for the stun-gun, snatched again at a larger one inside his coat, dropped them both in her handbag, and kept going straight for the cat.

Now she’ll begin to feel it, Phil told himself.

But she kept straight on. Lucky seemed to be studying her casually. Abruptly he sprang back onto the window sill, his green fur rose, his muzzle lengthened, and from it came a prolonged, spitting hiss.

The next moment Phil felt such a formless terror as he had never known before, as if all reality were about to be crunched in a single fist, as if the blackness between the stars were lashing down to strangle him. Dimly across the hall, he saw the waves of white wash along the ranked faces. He gazed fearfully at Lucky, as if the green cat had turned into a devil, and saw Dora Pannes coolly stooping to grab him. The cat started to streak past her, but Dora’s hands were faster. Then the cat sprang straight at her face, claws raking, but Dora calmly detached him and shoved him in her handbag and shut it and started back. She looked quite as beautiful and composed as she had at the stair head. The blood hadn’t started to flow from the scratches in her face.

As she passed da Silva, he looked up at her groggily. In his expression there was still the ghost of desire.

“You jerk,” she said to him and walked on and went down the stairs.

Phil felt his heart hammering ten, eleven, twelve times, like a clock striking, and then he was racing downstairs and someone was pounding along after him.

He caromed off the open front door and stumbled down the steps in time to see a dark car roar off. Greeley was beside him now, barking orders into a pocket radio. From the other end of the street, another car shot in. Red plumes shot forward from under its hood as it rocket-braked to a heaving stop. Greeley piled into the back seat. Phil scrambled in after him.

“You can still see them,” Greeley yelled at the driver. “Take all chances. Rockets!” Then he turned to Phil.

“Who are you?”

“Phil Gish of the U.S. Newsmoon,” Phil replied recklessly, but the last word was lost in the rocket’s roar.

The other car had been about five blocks away when they had taken off. As Phil untwisted himself with difficulty from the huddle into which acceleration had thrown him, he saw that its lead had been reduced to almost one block.

“Douse the jets,” Greeley ordered. “We can curb them on our regulars; but watch out they don’t shift. They may have rockets. Where do you stand in Project Kitty, Gish?”

“Sort of special observer,” Phil improvised gaspingly, still hanging on with both hands. “My section has decided the green cat may not be dangerous.”

“What?” Greeley demanded, peering ahead.

“Didn’t you feel it up there?” Phil asked.

“Feel what?” Greeley said, his eyes measuring the lessening distance between the two cars. “You mean the horror?”

“No,” Phil said. “Peace. Understanding -”

But just then the car ahead of them slowed a bit and something green flashed out of it, roiled over half a dozen times, and darted toward an alley.