Page 60 of A Plague of Angels


  “Spatiotemporally, it’s not half a dozen sectors,” he told her. “I wish it were, quite frankly. We’d be safer!”

  She made herself relax, slowly picked up the cup once more, finding it fresh, steaming hot.

  “Will you go?” he asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” she grated. “If I don’t go, you’ll—”

  “Nothing,” he assured her. “Really nothing. We have the power to compel you, but compelling you would be useless. We need your willing, intelligent cooperation. It’s up to you whether you give it or not.”

  As though that old devil conscience would have let her say no! “You know me,” she said angrily. “You knew I wouldn’t say no. Didn’t you?”

  As he did. As Fastigats did. Lutha told me all about Fastigats. Fastigats get to know people very quickly, very well, very completely, as had this bald, quirky old empath across from her who hadn’t come right out and told her he was one of them. Who hadn’t needed to, any more than Leelson had, when they had been together.

 


 

  Sheri S. Tepper, A Plague of Angels

 


 

 
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