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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Mekinese ship was a cruiser, and it broke out of overdrive within the Tralee solar system just two days, four hours, and some odd minutes after Gwenlyn predicted its coming. Presumably, it had made the customary earlier breakout to correct its course and measure the distance remaining to be run.
He was embittered, and agitated, and in particular, he was frustrated. "It's all madness!" he protested almost hysterically. "Here we've got a firm precognition that King Humphrey's going to open parliament on Kandar next year, and there's another one " Gwenlyn said quickly, "Which you won't tell!" "Which I won't tell. But something's got to happen! Something's got to be done!
Remember, we heard on Norden that the dictator of Mekin consults fortune-tellers!" "Ah!" said her father. "But they're only fortune-tellers!" "One could be a Talent," said Gwenlyn worriedly, "maybe without even knowing it." There came a far-distant, roaring sound. Something silvery and glistening rose swiftly toward the sky. It dwindled to a speck. There were more roarings.
Gwenlyn said, "Four days, three hours and some odd minutes " "True," said Morgan. "Let's get at it. Captain Bors, have you ever heard of a lightning calculator a person who can do complicated sums in his head as fast as he can hear or read the numbers involved?" "Yes," said Bors. "It's quite phenomenal, I believe." "It's a form of genius," said Morgan.
Gwenlyn came and stood beside him. They looked together out at the stars. There were myriads upon myriads of them, of all the colors of the spectrum, of all degrees of brightness, in every possible asymmetric distribution. There was a spark in remoteness. Instantly it was vastly more than a spark. It was a globe of deadly, blue-white incandescence.
When the blister air-pressure showed normal and green lights flashed and flashed, Bors got out of the boat and went to the Sylva's control-room. Gwenlyn was there, quite casually controlling the operation of the yacht by giving suggestions to its official skipper. She turned and beamed at Bors. "We'll pull off a way," she observed, "and make sure your time-bomb works.
He didn't know there was anything better than that! A fortune-teller! But he's a Talent! He's a born charlatan, but he's an authentic Talent, and he doesn't know what that is! He thinks predictions as Madame Porvis thinks scandals! And they're just as crazy! But he is a Talent and they have to be right!" Bors said, "You're going to take Gwenlyn away from here, and fast!" Morgan paid no attention.
"Gwenlyn insists that I have the talent of finding and using talents." "A mild talent, Father," said Gwenlyn. "Not enough to make you revolting. But " A door opened. A tweedy man with a small mustache stood in the doorway. "I believe I'm wanted?" he said offhandedly. Morgan introduced him. His name was Logan. He was the lightning calculator, the mathematical talent of Talents, Incorporated.
"There'll be a ship arriving here in two days, four hours, sixteen minutes from now," said Gwenlyn matter-of-factly. "He thinks it's a fighting ship, though he can't be sure. It could be a cruiser or something like that doing mail duty, coming to deliver orders and receive reports.
First, of course, he needed capital. So he used them to make money. Then he began to do useful things with them, since nobody else did. Now he's brought them here to help." Bors said painfully, "They don't all have the same gift." "No," agreed Gwenlyn. "And there are limits to their talents?" "Naturally!" Morgan broke in, amused.
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