Morgan, "our Telepath." Still
another, "our ship-arrival Precognizer--he predicted the coming of the
liner, you remember." He came to the scowling man with rings. "Captain
Bors, this is our Talent for Predicting Dirty Tricks. You've reason to
thank him for disclosing that Mekinese cruiser underwater."

Bors followed the lead given him.

"There are many of us," he said, "with reason to thank you for a most
satisfying operation. We smashed that cruiser!"

The scowling man nodded portentously. The introductions went on. The
skinny adolescent was "our Talent for Locating Individuals." The
enormously fat woman: "our Talent for Propaganda."

Bors was confused. He had to steel himself not to decide flatly that all
this was nonsense. 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. Of course, handling them is my profession, though
I have some plans for retirement. We'll see our Mathematics Talent in a
minute or two. He knows it's expected that he'll be the most useful of
all our Talents at the moment. He will make an entrance."

Gwenlyn sat down. She regarded Bors with amusement.

"I think the Captain's halfway unconvinced again, Father."

"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 know how the Captain feels. I'm an outsider,
too. I haven't any talent--fortunately! Sit down, Captain."

Bors seated himself. Morgan offered a cigar. He seemed too impatient and
much too pleased to be able to sit down himself. Bors lighted the
cigar; at the first puff he removed it and looked at it respectfully.
Such cigars were not easy to come by.

"I think," said Gwenlyn amiably, "that Father himself has a talent,
which makes him not too easy to get along with. But it has had some good
results. I hope it will have more here. The whole business is
unbelievable, tho