f. In other words, if it is
possible to avert, say, a disaster if it is foretold, or whether the
very foretelling itself assures the ultimate outcome."

The woman nodded her agreement.

"As I understand it," Forsythe continued, "we are going to get several
score clients--or, rather, _subjects_--and I am to ... uh ... exercise
my talents, just as I have been doing for many years. The results are
to be tabulated and run through the computers to see if there is any
correlation between human activity taken as a result of the forecast
and the actual foretold events themselves."

"That's right," said Miss Tedesco. She looked at Taggert. "That's what
the committee outlined, in general, isn't it?"

"In general, yes," Taggert said.

"But what about the details?" Forsythe asked doggedly. "I mean, just
how are we going to go about this? You must remember that I'm not at
all familiar with ... er ... scientific research procedures."

"Oh, we'll work all that out together," said Miss Tedesco brightly.
"You didn't think we'd plan a detailed work schedule without your
co-operation, did you?"

"Well--" Forsythe said, swelling visibly with pride, "I suppose--"

Taggert, glancing at his watch, interrupted. "I'll have to leave you
two to work out your research schedule together. I have an appointment
in a few minutes." He grasped Forsythe's hand and pumped it
vigorously. "I believe we'll get along fine, Dr. Forsythe. And I
believe our work here will be quite fruitful. Will you excuse me?"

"Certainly, Mr. Taggert. And I want to thank you for this opportunity
to do research work along these lines."

Brian Taggert thanked Forsythe and hurried out with the air of a man
with important and urgent things on his mind.

He went up the stairs to the office directly over the one he had
assigned to Forsythe and stepped in quietly. Two men were relaxed in
lounge chairs, their eyes closed.

_Meshing?_ Taggert asked wordlessly.

_Meshing._

Taggert closed the door carefully and went into his own office.

* * * * *

General Howard Layton, USSF, looked no different from any other Space
Force officer, except that he was rather handsomer than most. He
looked as though he might have posed for recruiting posters at one
time, and, in point of fact, he had--back when he had been an ensign
in the United States Navy's Submarine Service. He was forty-nine and
looked a prematurely graying thirty.

He stood in the