Talents, Incorporated, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  There was a fleet on the way to Kandar. It could not be said to betraveling in space, of course. If there had been an observer somewhere,he could not conceivably have detected the ships. There would be nooccultations of stars; no blotting out of any of the hundreds andthousands of millions of bright specks which filled all the firmament.There would be no drive-radiation which even the most sensitive ofinstruments could pick up. The fleet might be at one place to anobserver's right--where it was imperceptible--and then it might be at aplace to the observer's left--where it was undetectable--and nobodycould have told the difference.

  Actually, each ship of the Mekinese fleet was in overdrive, which meantthat each had stressed the space immediately around it so that it waslike a cocoon of other-space; as if it were out of this cosmosaltogether and in another. In sober fact, of course, nothing of the sorthad happened. An overdrive field changed the physical constants ofspace. The capacity of a condenser in an overdrive field was differentfrom that of a condenser out of it. The self-induction of a coil in anoverdrive field was not the same as in normal space. Magnetic andgravitational fields also did not follow the same laws in stressed spaceas in unstressed extension. The speed of light was different. Inertiawas different. In short, a ship could drive at many hundreds of timesthe velocity of light and the laws of Einstein did not apply, becausehis laws referred to space that men had not tampered with.

  But though ships in overdrive had to be considered as in motion, andthough their speed had to be considered as beyond the astronomical,there were such incredible distances to be covered that time piled up.Aside from double stars, there were no suns yet discovered which wereless than light-years apart. The time required for travel betweeninhabited planets was still comparable to the time needed forsurface-travel between continents on a world. So the fleet of Mekin,journeying faster than the mind could imagine, nevertheless drove anddrove and drove in the blackness and darkness and isolation of eachship's overdrive field. They had so driven for days. They would continueto do so for days to come.

  When Captain Bors burned the documents in the Ministry for DiplomaticAffairs, the enemy fleet might have been said to be at one place. When asubmerged space-cruiser, planning assassination, was itself blown tobits with no chance to strike back, the Mekinese fleet was approximatelysomewhere else. When a cabinet meeting disheartened King Humphrey, thefleet was much nearer to Kandar. But days of highly-tediouseventlessness were still ahead of the war-fleet.

  So Bors and Gwenlyn and Morgan got a ground-car and were driven toKandar's commercial spaceport. There they found the _Sylva_. It was farlarger than the usual space-yachts. There were commercial space-craftwhich were no larger. But it was a workmanlike sort of ship, at that. Ithad two lifeboat blisters, and there were emergency rockets for landingswhere no landing-grids existed. The armored bands of overdrive-coilshielding were massive. The _Sylva_, in fact, looked more like a serviceship than either a commercial vessel or a yacht. It was obviouslyunarmed, but it had the look of a craft that could go very nearlyanywhere.

  "You'll find the Talents a bit odd," said Gwenlyn, as they drove upunder the hull's wide bulge. "When they meet new people they like toshow off. Most of them were pretty well frustrated before Father found ause for them. But they're quite pleasant people if you don't treat themlike freaks. They're not, you know."

  Bors had nothing to say. Until he was fifteen he'd lived on Tralee,which was then a quiet, pacific world, as Kandar had been. As the nephewof a monarch at least as resolutely constitutional as King Humphrey,he'd been raised in a very matter-of-fact fashion. The atmosphere hadbeen that of a comfortable, realistic adjustment to facts. He was taughta great respect for certain facts without being made fanatically opposedto anything else. He'd been trained to require reasonable evidencewithout demanding that all proofs come out of test tubes and electronicapparatus. He was specifically taught that arithmetic cannot be provedby experimental evidence, but that sound experimental evidence agreeswith arithmetic. So he was probably better qualified than most to dealwith something like Talents, Incorporated. But it was not easy for him.

  The ground-car stopped. An exit-port in the space yacht opened and anextension-stair came down. The three of them mounted it. The innerlock-door opened and they entered the _Sylva_.

  An incredibly fat woman regarded Bors with warm and sentimental eyes. Aman no older than Bors, but with prematurely gray hair, nodded at him. Aman in a chair lifted a hand in highly dignified greeting. Everyoneseemed to know who he was. There was a blonde woman who might be in herlate thirties, a short, scowling man with several jewelled rings on hisfingers, and a gangling, skinny adolescent. There were still others.

  Morgan addressed them with enthusiasm. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said."I present Captain Bors! He's come to arrange to use your talents in thegravest of all possible situations for his world!"

  There were nods. There were bows. The dignified man in the chair saidconfidently, "The ship was where I specified."

  "Exactly!" said Morgan, beaming. "Exactly! A magnificent piece of work!Which is what I expected of you!"

  He made individual introductions all around. Bors did not begin to catchthe names. This was so-and-so, said Morgan, "our Telepath." Stillanother, "our ship-arrival Precognizer--he predicted the coming of theliner, you remember." He came to the scowling man with rings. "CaptainBors, this is our Talent for Predicting Dirty Tricks. You've reason tothank 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 mostsatisfying operation. We smashed that cruiser!"

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

  Bors was confused. He had to steel himself not to decide flatly that allthis was nonsense. Morgan and Gwenlyn took him away from what appearedlike a sort of social hall for these externally commonplace persons.

  They arrived at a smaller compartment. It was a much more personal sortof place. Morgan waved his hand.

  "Gwenlyn and I live here," he observed. "Our cabins are yonder and youmight call this our family room. Gwenlyn finds the undiluted society ofTalents a bit wearing. Of course, handling them is my profession, thoughI have some plans for retirement. We'll see our Mathematics Talent in aminute or two. He knows it's expected that he'll be the most useful ofall 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 easyeither 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 missgoing 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 andmuch too pleased to be able to sit down himself. Bors lighted thecigar; 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 goodresults. I hope it will have more here. The whole business isunbelievable, though, unless you think of some very special facts."

  Bors nodded. He puffed again and waited.

  "He told you some of it," said Gwenlyn. "About the ship arrival Talentand the dowser. There've always been such people with gifts thatnobody's ever understood, but that are real. Only they've always beenconsidered freaks. They feel that they're remarkable--and they are--andthey want people to recognize this. But they've never had a function in
society. They've been _denied_ all function. Take the MathematicalTalent! He can do any sort of mathematics in his head. Any sort! He usedto hire out to work computers, and he always got discharged because hedid the computations in his head instead of using the machines. He wasalways right, and he was proud of his ability. He wanted to use it! Butnobody'd let him. He was a miserable misfit until Father found him andhired him."

  Bors nodded again, but his forehead wrinkled.

  "Talents, Incorporated is merely an organization, created by my father,to make use of people who can do things ordinarily impossible, andprobably unexplainable, but which exist nevertheless. There are moretalents than Father has gathered, of course. But what good are theirgifts to them? No good at all! They're considered freaks. So Fathergathered them together as he found them. First, of course, he neededcapital. So he used them to make money. Then he began to do usefulthings with them, since nobody else did. Now he's brought them here tohelp."

  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. "Gwenlyn insists that I have the talent offinding and using talents."

  "A mild talent, Father," said Gwenlyn. "Not enough to make yourevolting. 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 lightningcalculator, the mathematical talent of Talents, Incorporated. Bors shookhis hand. The tweedy man sat down. He drew out a pipe and began to fillit with conscious exactitude. He looked remarkably like a professor ofmathematics who modestly pretended to be just another commuter. Hedressed the part: slightly untidy hair; bulldog pipe; casual, expensivesports shoes.

  "I understand," he said negligently, "that you want some calculationsmade."

  "I'm told I do," said Bors, harassedly. "But I don't know what theyare."

  "Then how can I make them?" asked Logan with lifted eyebrows.

  "Naturally," said Morgan, "you'll find out the kind of calculations heneeds, that he can't get anywhere else. That'll be the kind he needsfrom you."

  "Hm," said Logan. He blew a smoke-ring, thoughtfully. "Where do you usecalculations in space-travel?"

  "Everywhere," said Bors. "But we've computers for it. And they're quiteadequate."

  Logan shrugged. "Then what do you need me for?"

  "You tell me!" said Bors, nettled. "Certainly we don't need calculationsfor space-travel. We've no long journey in mind. We're simply going togo out and do some fighting when the Mekinese fleet gets here."

  Logan blew another smoke-ring.

  "What calculations do you use in space-fighting?"

  "Courses and distances," said Bors. He could see no sense in this, buthe went on. "Allowing for acceleration and deceleration in setting ourmissiles on targets. Allowing for the motion of the targets. Again wehave computers for this. In practice they're too good! If we send amissile at a Mekinese ship, they set a computer on it, and it computes acourse for a counter-missile which explodes and destroys our missilewhen it's within a certain distance of it."

  "Then your missile doesn't hit," said Logan.

  "All too often, it doesn't," admitted Bors.

  "Then their missiles don't hit either."

  "If they send a hundred missiles at us, they're cancelled out if we senda hundred to destroy them. Unfortunately, if they send more than we cancounter, we get wiped out."

  Bors found his throat going dry. This, of course, was what he'ddesperately been denying to himself. It was the fundamental reason for atotal lack of hope. The history of warfare is the history of rivalrybetween attack and defense. In the matter of missiles in space, therewas a stalemate. One missile fired in attack could always be destroyedby another fired in defense. It was an arithmetic balance. But it meantthat three ships could always destroy two, and four ships three. In thespace-fight ahead, there would be at least ten Mekinese ships to everyone from Kandar. The sally of Kandar's fleet would not be a rush intobattle, but an advance into annihilation. "What we need," said Borsdesperately, "is a means to compute courses for our missiles so they'llhit, and that the enemy can't counter-compute--so that his missilescan't compute how to change course in order to cancel ours out."

  He was astonished as the words left his mouth. This was what was needed,of course. But then he realized that it couldn't be done.

  Logan blew a smoke-ring.

  "Mechanical computers," he said, "have limits. They're designed tocalculate a trajectory with constant acceleration or no acceleration.But that's all."

  Bors frowned. "What else could there be?"

  "Changing acceleration," said Logan condescendingly. "A mechanicalcomputer can't compute that. But I can."

  Bors continued to frown. One part of his mind assured him that thestatement that mechanical computers could not calculate trajectories ofmissiles with changing acceleration was incorrect. But the rest of hismind tried to imagine such a trajectory. He couldn't. In practice, mendo not have to handle the results of variable acceleration as cumulativeeffects.

  "I think," said Bors carefully, "that if you can do that--"

  Logan blew a smoke-ring more perfect than any that had gone before.

  "I'll calculate some tables," he said modestly. "You can use them onyour computer-results. Then if you arrange your missiles to change theiracceleration as they go, the Mekinese missiles can't intercept them."

  He waved his hand with the grand air of someone assuring a grammar-gradepupil that multiplication tables were quite reliable and could be usedwith confidence. But his eyes fixed themselves on Bors's face. As theCaptain realized the implications of his statement, the eyes of theMathematical Talent of Talents, Incorporated shone with gratifiedvanity.

  "We'll go out in a couple of tin cans," said Bors fiercely, "and trythis out with dummy warheads!"

  Gwenlyn said quickly, "Marvelous! Marvelous, Logan!"

  "It's nothing," said Logan modestly.

  But it was a very great deal. Bors, impatient to try it out,nevertheless realized that Logan hadn't made the suggestion out of abrilliant perception of a solution to a problem in ballistics, butbecause he thought in terms of mathematical processes. He didn't thinkof a new missile operation, but a new kind of computation. And hereveled in the fact that he had showed off his brilliance.

  In the ground-car on the way to the fleet, Bors said helplessly toGwenlyn, "I'm not the right man to be the liaison with you people. Butthis might make us a pretty costly conquest for Mekin! With luck, we maytrade them ship for ship! They won't miss the ships they lose, butit'll be a lot of satisfaction to us!"

  "You expect to be killed," Gwenlyn said flatly.

  "My uncle," explained Bors, "considers that he should have gotten killedwhen Mekin took over Tralee. It would have set a good example. Since wedidn't do it for Tralee, we'll do it for Kandar. The king's going alongtoo. After all, that's one of the things kings are for."

  "To get killed?"

  "When necessary," Bors told her. "Kandar shouldn't surrender even thoughthere will be at least ten Mekinese to one Kandarian."

  She smiled at him, very oddly.

  "I suspect," she said, "that not everybody on the fleet will be killed.I'm sure of it. In fact, as my father would say, that's Talents,Incorporated information!"

  Bors frowned worriedly.

  The fleet of Mekin continued in overdrive, heading for Kandar. Eachsecond it traversed a distance equal to the span of a solar system, outto its remotest planet. A heartbeat that would begin where a pulsingCepheid, had it been possible to see, would have seemed at its greatestbrilliance, and would end where the light from that same giant starseemed dimmed almost to extinction. Of course no such observation couldbe made from any ship in overdrive. Each one of the many, many uglywar-machines was sealed in its own cocoon of overdrive-stressed space.Even in the
armed transports that carried officials and bureaucrats andexperienced police organizers to set up a puppet government on Kandar,there was not the faintest hint of anything that happened outside theindividual ship. But, what might be termed the position of the fleet,changed with remarkable swiftness. It traveled light-hours betweenbreaths. Light-days between sentences. Light-months and light-years....

  But it would not arrive on Kandar for a long while yet. Not for threewhole days.