“Oh, leave her alone, fellows,” said this Claude. “I didn’t tell her
anything. She was just trying to pick me up.”
“Sorry,” said the cop. “She comes, too.”
That’s when I began to get scared. “Look,” I said. “I don’t know what
this is all about.”
The man showed me the snout of a hypo gun in his pocket. “Stop the
commotion and come quietly, sister, or I’ll have to use this,” he said.
So who wants to go to sleep? I went quietly, praying we’d run into my
father or someone I knew so I could explain things. But no such luck.
The police had a plain old jet buggy outside with people clustered
around looking at it. A ’porter in the crowd was having fun jiggling
the rear end up and down off the ground. He was standing back with his
hands in his pockets, grinning.
The cop who’d done all the talking just looked toward this ’porter and
the fellow lost his grin and hurried away. I knew then the cop was a
tele, although he hadn’t touched my mind. They’re awfully sensitive
about their code of ethics, some of those teles.
It was fun riding in that old jet buggy. I’d never been in one before.
One of the cops got in back with Claude and me. The other one drove.
It was the strangest feeling flying up over the bay on the tractors.
Usually, whenever I wanted to go someplace, I’d just ask, polite like,
was there a ’porter around and then I’d think of where I wanted to go
and the ’porter would set me down there quick as a wink.
Of course, I wound up in some old gent’s apartment now and then. Some
’porters do that sort of thing for a fee. But a pyro doesn’t have to
worry about would-be Casanovas. No old gent is going to fool around
when his clothes are on fire.
Well, the jet buggy finally set down on an old hospital grounds way
back up in the sticks and the cops took us to the main building
and into a little office. Walking, mind you. It was shady in the
office--not enough lights--and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust
after the bright lights in the hall. When they did adjust and I saw
the old codger behind the desk I did a real double take. It was Mensor
Williams. Yeah. The _Big All_. Anything anybody else can do he can do
better.
Somebody worked a switch somewhere and the lights brightened. “Good
evening, Miss Carlysle,” he said and his little goatee bobbled.
Before I could make a crack about ethics against reading minds, he
said, “I’m not intruding into your mental processes. I’ve merely
scanned forward to a point where I learn your name.”
A prescient, too!
“There really wasn’t any need to bring her,” he told the cops. “But
it was inevitable that you would.” Then he did the funniest thing.
He turned to Claude and nodded his head toward me. “How do you like
her, Claude?” he asked. Just like I was something offered for sale or
something!
Claude said, “Is she the one, Dad?”
Dad! That one smacked me. The _Big All_ has a kid and the kid’s a
_Nothing_!
“She’s the one,” said Williams.
Claude kind of squared his shoulders and said, “Well, I’m going to
throw a stick into the works. I won’t do it!”
“Yes, you will,” said Williams.
This was all way over my head and I’d had about enough anyway. I said,
“Now wait a minute, gentlemen, or I’ll set the place on fire! I mean
literally!”
“She can do it, too,” said Claude, grinning at his father.
“But she won’t,” said Williams.
“Oh, won’t I?” I said. “Well, you just try and stop me!”
“No need to do that,” said Williams. “I’ve seen what’s going to happen.”
Just like that! These prescients give me the creeps. Sometimes I wonder
if they don’t give themselves the creeps. Living for them must be like
repeating a part you already know. Not for me. I said, “What would
happen if I did something different from what you’d seen?”
Williams leaned forward with an interested look in his eyes. “It’s
never happened,” he said. “If it did happen once, that’d be a real
precedent.”
I can’t be sure, but looking at him there, I got the idea he’d really
be interested to see something happen different from his forecast. I
thought of starting a little fire, maybe in the papers on his desk. But
somehow the idea didn’t appeal to me. It wasn’t that any presence was
in my mind telling me not to. I don’t know exactly what it was. I just
didn’t _want_ to do it. I said, “What’s the meaning of all this double
talk?”
The old man leaned back and I swear he seemed kind of disappointed. He
said, “It’s just that you and Claude are going to be married.”
I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. Finally, I managed to
stammer, “You mean you’ve looked into the future and seen us _married_?
How many kids we’re going to have and everything like that?”
“Well, not everything,” he said. “All things in the future aren’t clear
to us. Only certain main-line developments. And we can’t see too far
into the future for most things. The past is easier. That’s been fixed
immovably.”
“And what if we don’t want to?” asked Claude.
“Yeah,” I said. “What about that?” But I have to admit the idea wasn’t
totally repulsive. As I’ve said, Claude looked like Sidney Harch, only
younger. He had something--you can call it animal magnetism if you wish.
The old man just smiled. “Miss Carlysle,” he said, “do you honestly
object to--”
“As long as I’m going to be in the family you can call me Jean,” I said.
I was beginning to feel fatalistic about the whole thing. My great aunt
Harriet was a prescient and I’d had experience with them. Now I was
remembering the time she told me my kitty was going to die and I hid
it in the old cistern and that night it rained and filled the cistern.
Naturally the kitty drowned. I never forgave her for not telling me how
the kitty was going to die.
Old Williams looked at me and said, “At least _you’re_ being
reasonable.”
“I’m not,” said Claude.
So I told them about my great aunt Harriet.
“It’s the nature of things,” said Williams. “Why can’t you be as
reasonable as she’s being, son?”
Claude just sat there with the original stone face.
“Am I so repulsive?” I asked.
He looked at me then. Really looked. I tell you I got warm under it. I
know I’m not repulsive. Finally, I guess I blushed.
“You’re not repulsive,” he said. “I just object to having my whole life
ordered out for me like a chess set up.”
Stalemate. We sat there for a minute or so, completely silent.
Presently Williams turned to me and said, “Well, Miss Carlysle, I
presume you’re curious about what’s going on here.”
“I’m not a moron,” I said. “This is one of the _Nothing_ Preserves.”
“Correct,” he said. “Only it’s more than that. Your education includes
the knowledge of how our talents developed from radiation mutants. Does
it also include the knowledge of what happens to extremes from the
norm?”
Every schoolkid knows that, of course. So I told him. Sure I knew
that the direction of development was toward the average. That genius
parents tend to have children less smart than they are. This is just
general information.
Then the old man threw me the twister. “The talents are disappearing,
my dear,” he said.
I just sat there and thought about that for awhile. Certainly I knew
it’d been harder lately to get a ’porter, even one of the old gent kind.
“Each generation has more children without talents or with talents
greatly dulled,” said Williams. “We will never reach a point where
there are absolutely none, but what few remain will be needed for
special jobs in the public interest.”
“You mean if I have kids they’re liable to be _Nothings_?” I asked.
“Look at your own family,” he said. “Your great aunt was a prescient.
Have there been any others in your family?”
“Well, no, but--”
“The prescient talent is an extreme,” he said. “There are fewer than a
thousand left. There are nine of us in my category. I believe you refer
to us as the _Big All_.”
“But we’ve got to do something!” I said. “The world’ll just go to pot!”
“We _are_ doing something,” he said. “Right here and on eight other
preserves scattered around the world. We’re reviving the mechanical
and tool skills which supported the pretalent civilization and we’re
storing the instruments which will make a rebirth of that civilization
possible.”
He raised a warning hand. “But we must move in secrecy. The world’s not
yet ready for this information. It would cause a most terrible panic if
this were to become known.”
“Well, you’re prescient. What does happen?” I asked him.
“Unfortunately, none of us are able to determine that,” he said.
“Either it’s an unfixed line or there’s some interference which we
can’t surmount.” He shook his head and the goatee wiggled. “There’s a
cloudy area in the near future beyond which we can’t see. None of us.”
That scared me. A prescient may give you the creeps, but it’s nice to
know there’s a future into which someone can see. It was as if there
suddenly wasn’t any future--period. I began to cry a little.
“And our children will be _Nothings_,” I said.
“Well, not exactly,” said Williams. “Some of them, maybe, but we’ve
taken the trouble of comparing your gene lines--yours and Claude’s.
You’ve a good chance of having offspring who will be prescient or
telepathic or both. A better than seventy percent chance.”
His voice got pleading. “The world’s going to need that chance.”
Claude came over and put a hand on my shoulder. It sent a delicious
tingle up my spine. Suddenly, I got a little flash of his thoughts-a
picture of us kissing. I’m not really a tele, but like I said,
sometimes I get glimmers.
Claude said, “Okay. I guess there’s no sense fighting the inevitable.
We’ll get married.”
No more argument. We all traipsed into another room and there was
a preacher with everything ready for us, even the ring. Another
prescient. He’d come more than a hundred miles to perform the ceremony,
he said.
* * * * *
Afterward, I let Claude kiss me once. I was having trouble realizing
that I was married. Mrs. Claude Williams. But that’s the way it is with
the inevitable, I guess. The old man took my arm then and said there
was one small precaution. I’d be going off the grounds from time to
time and there’d always be the chance of some unethical tele picking my
brains.
They put me under an anesthetube and when I came out of it I had a
silver grid in my skull. It itched some, but they said that it would go
away. I’d heard of this thing. They called it a blanket.
Mensor Williams said, “Now go home and get your things. You won’t need
to tell your parents any more than that you have a government job. Come
back as soon as you’re able.”
“Get me a ’porter,” I said.
“The grounds are gridded against teleporters,” he said. “I’ll have to
send you in a jet buggy.”
And so he did. I was home in ten minutes. I went up the stairs to my
house. It was after nine o’clock by then. My father was waiting inside
the door.
“A fine time for an eighteen-year-old girl to be coming home!” he
shouted and he made a tele stab at my mind to see what I’d been up to.
These teles and their ethics! Well, he ran smack dab into the blanket
and maybe you think that didn’t set him back on his heels. He got all
quiet suddenly.
I said, “I have a government job. I just came back for my things.” Time
enough to tell them about the marriage later. They’d have kicked up a
fine rumpus if I’d said anything then.
Mama came in and said, “My little baby with a government job! How much
does it pay?”