"--Incorporated information and I can depend on it," said Bors dourly. "In plain common sense the odds are rather high against my accomplishing anything, such as coming back." Morgan looked at his daughter. He grinned. "We heard gloom from him the other day before a certain space-battle, didn't we?" He turned back to Bors. "Look, Captain. Our Talents don't prophesy. Precognition simply says that when there are so many thousand ways an event in the future can happen, then, in one of those several thousand ways, it will. Precognition doesn't say which way. It doesn't say how. Especially, it doesn't say why. But we have a very firm precognition by a very reliable Talent that you'll be alive and doing something very specific a year from now. So we assume you won't be permanently killed in the meantime." "But anything else can happen?" "More or less," admitted Morgan. "What will happen?" "We don't know!" said Morgan again. "Someday I may take you aside and explain the facts of precognition and other talents as I understand them. I'm probably quite wrong. But I do know better than to try to pry certain kinds of information from my Talents. Right now--" "I'm going to try to capture a, what you might call a tribute-ship, loaded with food for Mekin." "Tralee," said Morgan with finality. "You'll try there." "Will I capture a food-ship there?" asked Bors. "How the devil would I know?" Morgan snapped. "You asked the wrong question," said Gwenlyn cheerfully. "If you asked if there's a cargo-ship down on Tralee, loading foodstuffs for Mekin, there can be an answer to that." "Is there?" "At the moment, yes," Morgan answered. "So the dowsing Talent says." "Then I'll go there," said Bors. "I thought you might," said Morgan. He looked at his daughter. "May I come along?" asked Gwenlyn. "With an assortment of Talents? My father's going to have long conferences with the king. He'll need some Talents here to work out things. But I could go along on your ship with a few of the others. We could help a lot." "No!" said Bors grimly. "I thought not," said Morgan. "Very well. Logan, you'll help Captain Bors, I'm sure." The math Talent said offhandedly; "Any calculations he needs, of course." He looked about him with a confident, modestly complacent air. Bors walked with Morgan and his daughter to the airlock. He turned to Gwenlyn. "I don't mean to be ungallant, refusing to let you run risks." "I'm flattered but annoyed," Gwenlyn answered. "It means I'll have to take drastic measures. Luck!" She and her father went into the _Sylva's_ space-boat. The blister doors closed. Bors went back to the control room. He began to set up the computations for astrogation from the sun of Glamis to the sun of Tralee. He shortly heard the sound of arrivals via the _Isis's_ airlock. Presently, his second-in-command reported fifty additional hands aboard. They included astrogators, drive-engineers and assorted specialists.