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He turned to Morgan, who answered blandly, "One of our Talents precognized an event. We had to come here and help it to happen. Gwenlyn was doubtful, but she's come around." "What was it?" "It hasn't happened yet," said Morgan. He produced a cigar and lighted it. "Gwenlyn, shall I tell him?" "Don't you dare!" said Gwenlyn hotly. Bors said unhappily, "I'm sorry you're going away, Gwenlyn.
"We'll go out in a couple of tin cans," said Bors fiercely, "and try this out with dummy warheads!" Gwenlyn said quickly, "Marvelous! Marvelous, Logan!" "It's nothing," said Logan modestly. But it was a very great deal.
He looked baffled, which was not unusual. But he looked enraged, which was. "Bors!" he said thickly. "I've always thought I was a practical man! But if being practical means what some members of my cabinet think, I would rather be a poet! Bors, do something before my cabinet dethrones me and tricks the fleet into disbanding!" He stumbled across the room, not noticing Morgan or Gwenlyn.
When it was over and they'd gone the fat woman again somehow managing a gait which could only be called sinuous Bors said abruptly, "What's this event you know of, a year ahead?" "King Humphrey opening parliament on Kandar," said Gwenlyn pleasantly. "There's another," said Bors, "which implies specifically that I'll still be alive." "That?" said Gwenlyn. "That's another one. I won't talk about it.
"Who do I tell this to?" "I name no names on microwaves," he told her. "Get going, will you?" "To hear," said Gwenlyn cheerfully, "is to obey." Her communicator clicked off. The Sylva showed on a radar-screen, but had not been near enough to be sighted direct. The blip shot out from the planet. Bors growled to himself. The Isis floated a hundred thousand miles off Garen. There was no challenge.
It implies that my father's going to retire from Talents, Incorporated." Bors fumed. "I don't like this prediction business," he said. "It still seems to hint that we're not free agents. Tell me," he said apprehensively. "That precognition about me, it doesn't include Madame Porvis?" Gwenlyn laughed. "No. Definitely no!" Bors grunted. Then he managed to grin.
Morgan and Gwenlyn took him away from what appeared like a sort of social hall for these externally commonplace persons. They arrived at a smaller compartment. It was a much more personal sort of place. Morgan waved his hand. "Gwenlyn and I live here," he observed. "Our cabins are yonder and you might call this our family room. Gwenlyn finds the undiluted society of Talents a bit wearing.
"I'm not unconvinced," said Bors grimly. "I'm desperate. It's not easy either to ignore what's happened or to believe that it will continue. And I well if the Mekinese fleet does arrive, I don't want to miss going with our fleet to meet it." "You won't miss anything, Captain," said Morgan happily. "Have a cigar. Gwenlyn, do you think I should " "Let me," said Gwenlyn.
"I still regret," he told Morgan, "that we've had no chance to do something in return for the information you've given us." To Gwenlyn he said obscurely, "I'm glad I didn't know you sooner." He turned and walked briskly into the fenced-off area. Behind him, Morgan looked inquisitively at his daughter. "What was that he just said?" "He's glad he didn't know me sooner," said Gwenlyn.
He had carefully kept secret the choice of Garen Three as the next planet to be invaded by the pseudo-pirate ship. It was upsetting to find that Gwenlyn knew about it. Blast Talents, Incorporated! "The dowsing Talent," said Gwenlyn, "says there's a battleship aground there. There've been some riots. The people of Garen don't like Mekin, either. Strange? The battleship is to overawe them."
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