we could prove Talent. Training, now … that is a long term program. We’ve got to develop more efficient techniques in recognizing and training Talent and that takes Talented personnel. Getting industry and the government to accept our workers was child’s play with what we can offer.” Then Henry sighed. “The suspicions of the general public can’t be totally allayed but with the help of a discreet PR program, people can become accustomed to the Talented.
“No, George, some of our biggest problems are yet to be solved. The knottiest one is establishing legal protection for Talent. Without that, all we’ve carefully built could be wiped away in legal fees, damages and law suits … particularly against the precogs. Oh, I see that we’ll get professional immunity sooner or later. I’m greedy. I want it sooner. And that’s why a telepath like Dai op Owen is required as Director. He’s more sensitive to the immediate situation. By God, the times I’ve wished I were a telepath …”
George snorted.
“It’s easier for a man who can delve into thoughts, not the future. That’s assured.”
“Ha!” Light flittered from George Henner’s sunken eyes. “Not yet. You’ve three days, four hours and five minutes to go.”
“No,” Henry replied gently, “no, old friend,
you’ve
three days, four hours and five minutes to go. And I shall miss you.”
“Ha to that as well! See any new signs of decay?” George jerked his head this way and that.
Henry shook his head slowly. “I will miss you, you old bastard.”
“Will you? Will you when I defy your prediction and you and your Talents are thrown out into the mass noise again?”
Henry summoned a laugh. “Then why haven’t you died long ago?”
George glared at him. “I intend to make you sweat, Henry Darrow. Sweat Bleed. Die a little.”
“And you wonder I want a telepath as a Director?” He gripped George firmly by the shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “Play the enemy if it pleases you: if the choler makes the blood continue to run in your veins. You’re more our friend than enemy. And I know it.”
“Ha! You are nervous. You’re worried that you’re wrong. That this time you’re wrong! I’ll prove you wrong if it’s the last thing I do.”
Henry cocked his head at George, grinning ironically. “You may at that, you old bastard. I’ve never claimed infallibility, George. And you’ve heard me state time and again that fore-knowledge of the future can alter it …”
“Cop out! Rationalization!” Henner shook with triumph. “You’re admitting defeat! Ha!”
“Have I made your day, George? Fair enough! I’ve got to go placate that tax man again. See you later.”
“Don’t waste your time with him. He’s stupid. No way they can tax the Talents with the structure
I
helped you build. And don’t miss the party! The Death Party!”
“Christ Hank,” Gus Molnar complained to Darrow, “he’s had me checking him over on the hour all day! And then that gaggle of ‘impartial physician witnesses’ check onme.” Molnar ran his hand nervously through his long fair hair, his eyes restless with anxiety and irritation. “And suddenly he won’t let Molly out of his sight. Said her healing hands would turn the trick. Give him the minute he needs. Goddamn old bastard!”
“Cool it, Gus. It’s what he needed to keep him alive.” Henry chuckled and straightened his tunic jacket, poked at his softly tied scarf.
Gus made a disgusted noise in his throat. “You’re so damned sure?”
“Not at all. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately? With the future of the Center at stake on one man’s heart beat?”
“I’ve seen that we do get the property. I regret that it has to be validated by the death of an old and valued friend. I could almost wish that he does live past the appointed minute …”
“Minute …” Molnar corrected him. “Bastard’s got a huge alarm clock rigged, to the Greenwich-mean-time
“No, George, some of our biggest problems are yet to be solved. The knottiest one is establishing legal protection for Talent. Without that, all we’ve carefully built could be wiped away in legal fees, damages and law suits … particularly against the precogs. Oh, I see that we’ll get professional immunity sooner or later. I’m greedy. I want it sooner. And that’s why a telepath like Dai op Owen is required as Director. He’s more sensitive to the immediate situation. By God, the times I’ve wished I were a telepath …”
George snorted.
“It’s easier for a man who can delve into thoughts, not the future. That’s assured.”
“Ha!” Light flittered from George Henner’s sunken eyes. “Not yet. You’ve three days, four hours and five minutes to go.”
“No,” Henry replied gently, “no, old friend,
you’ve
three days, four hours and five minutes to go. And I shall miss you.”
“Ha to that as well! See any new signs of decay?” George jerked his head this way and that.
Henry shook his head slowly. “I will miss you, you old bastard.”
“Will you? Will you when I defy your prediction and you and your Talents are thrown out into the mass noise again?”
Henry summoned a laugh. “Then why haven’t you died long ago?”
George glared at him. “I intend to make you sweat, Henry Darrow. Sweat Bleed. Die a little.”
“And you wonder I want a telepath as a Director?” He gripped George firmly by the shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “Play the enemy if it pleases you: if the choler makes the blood continue to run in your veins. You’re more our friend than enemy. And I know it.”
“Ha! You are nervous. You’re worried that you’re wrong. That this time you’re wrong! I’ll prove you wrong if it’s the last thing I do.”
Henry cocked his head at George, grinning ironically. “You may at that, you old bastard. I’ve never claimed infallibility, George. And you’ve heard me state time and again that fore-knowledge of the future can alter it …”
“Cop out! Rationalization!” Henner shook with triumph. “You’re admitting defeat! Ha!”
“Have I made your day, George? Fair enough! I’ve got to go placate that tax man again. See you later.”
“Don’t waste your time with him. He’s stupid. No way they can tax the Talents with the structure
I
helped you build. And don’t miss the party! The Death Party!”
“Christ Hank,” Gus Molnar complained to Darrow, “he’s had me checking him over on the hour all day! And then that gaggle of ‘impartial physician witnesses’ check onme.” Molnar ran his hand nervously through his long fair hair, his eyes restless with anxiety and irritation. “And suddenly he won’t let Molly out of his sight. Said her healing hands would turn the trick. Give him the minute he needs. Goddamn old bastard!”
“Cool it, Gus. It’s what he needed to keep him alive.” Henry chuckled and straightened his tunic jacket, poked at his softly tied scarf.
Gus made a disgusted noise in his throat. “You’re so damned sure?”
“Not at all. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately? With the future of the Center at stake on one man’s heart beat?”
“I’ve seen that we do get the property. I regret that it has to be validated by the death of an old and valued friend. I could almost wish that he does live past the appointed minute …”
“Minute …” Molnar corrected him. “Bastard’s got a huge alarm clock rigged, to the Greenwich-mean-time
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