Now that the virus diseases had been licked, people hardly ever got sick any more and, when they did, it was mostly psychosomatic. Life was so well organized that there weren't even many accidents these days. It was a safe, orderly existence for those who fitted into it--which accounted for more than ninety-five per cent of the population. The only ones who didn't adjust were those who couldn't, like me--psi-deficients, throwbacks to an earlier era. There were no physical cripples, because anybody could have a new arm or a new leg grafted on, but you couldn't graft psi powers onto an atavism or, if you could, the technique hadn't been developed yet. "I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household," my youngest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair. "You always do, Timothy," my mother said, unfolding her napkin. "And I must say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast." He reached for his juice. "Guess this is a doomed household. And what was all that emotional uproar about?" "The usual," Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else could answer. She slid warily into her chair. "Hey, Dan, I'm here!" she called. "If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand?" "Oh, all right." Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of food floating ahead of him. "The usual? Trouble with Kev?" Tim looked at me narrowly. "Somehow my sense of ominousness is connected with him." "Well, that's perfectly natural--" Sylvia began, then stopped as Mother caught her eye. "I didn't mean that," Tim said. "I still say Kev's got something we can't figure out." "You've been saying that for years," Danny protested, "and he's been tested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleport or telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix or prepossess. He can't--" "Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me," I interrupted, trying to keep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how my family thought of me, I knew--as an animal, and not a very lovable one, either. "No," Tim said, "he's just got something we haven't developed a test for. It'll come out some day, you'll see." He smiled at me. * * * * * I smiled at him gratefully; he was the only member of my family who really seemed to like me in spite of my handicap. "It won't work, Tim. I know you're trying to be kind, but--" "He's not saying it just to be kind," my mother put in. "He means it. Not that I want to arouse false hopes, Kevin," she added with grim scrupulousness. "Tim's awfully young yet and I wouldn't trust his extracurricular prognostications too far." Nonetheless, I couldn't help feeling a feeble renewal of old hopes. After all, young or not, Tim was a hell of a good prognosticator; he wouldn't have risen so rapidly to the position he held in the Weather Bureau if he hadn't been pretty near tops in foreboding.