"How goes the planting?" On some hot afternoon a bored field-foreman had called a worker from her tasks to relieve his tedium. Jarvon was the result, ... mind of at least moderate power housed in the body of a small worker-woman. Idly Darveel reached out a compulsion to bring her closer."It goes well. The plants are setting in as rapidly as might be expected. These brutes are but poor things, barely able to move one flat foot past the other without guidance."He frowned. The compulsion was having. Your entire consciousness was determined to deny her the joy of toying with you, of falling back into her cold grasp. Your heart, however, still was the puppet to every snap of her fingers. For merely this reason, without further questioning, you packed the absolutely necessary—your headphones being the most essential part of it, bearing the hope the noise-canceling would also drown the voice of reason which dominated your thoughts—and rushed to the train station.*You take a brief glance at the. More

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