identified. Unless you call the transmission of strong genetic traits a Talent.”
Op Owen shook his head, his lips pursed in thought. “She has wanted a child desperately. As a mother wants a child: not as a Talented person wants evidence of succession.” He spoke slowly, the words dragged out of his mouth as if he were sorting the thoughts. “Lajos says that although Ruth is a great help and very understanding, sometimes his Incidents bother her more than she admits. Let’s just let things take their course. We’ll keep an eye on them.”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them, huh?” Frames sighed. “Wish you’d let that attitude spill over into other areas, Dave.”
Op Owen regarded the doctor intently. “I can conceivably bend a little privately, for the benefit of those under my care, but I cannot as easily rationalize the broader issue which I cannot oversee or control.”
“All right Dave, but I feel, and Jod Andres feels, that private reactions are a strong basis for predicting public ones. You’re reluctant to tell Ruth Honrath, a girl conditioned and trained to accept Talent that her child shows exceedingly strong telepathic Talent. You willingly want to broadcast information that even frightens me, and I’m Talented, to a public that is in no way conditioned to accept a fragment of that knowledge. The two attitudes cannot be reconciled.”
“The ethical position of the Talented must never be questioned.”
“Dave,” and there was entreaty in Jerry Frames’s voice and manner, “
you
are unable to be unethical. The withholding of prejudicial knowledge is not unethical, it’s plain good ol’ common sense. Which you are sensibly applying to Ruth Horvath’s case. How many times I have considered telling a patient he’s bought it and how few times haveI actually come clean. Very few people can stand the whole, complete, unvarnished truth.”
“I hang between, in doubt to act or rest,” op Owen said, resigned as well as frustrated.
“What’s that?”
“I apologize, Jerry. Your point is well taken. I’ve erred—on the side of the angels, I hope—but this attitude of mine towards Ruth Horvath
is
a curious vacillation from my tendency to be forthright. Yet I know that there is a reason to be slightly devious.”
“Then you’ll ease back on this all-open-and-above-board routine?”
“Yes, I’ll ease back as you put it.”
“Still,” and Jerry frowned slightly, “it isn’t as if they won’t find out soon enough.” He meant the Horvaths.
“They need time to get used to the idea.” Op Owen was thinking about humanity.
“Where on earth did she get those blue eyes?” Lajos asked as he sat entranced by his three-month-old daugher’s attempts to capture her toes. She flopped over, gurgling cheerfully to herself.
“Heavens, it’s possible,” Ruth replied, beaming fatuously as she caught her daughter’s eye. “I may be grey-eyed, and you brown, but we both have ancesters with blue eyes—four generations back.”
“I always said you were recessive, hon.”
“Humph. I don’t mind in the least, not if it produces a blue-eyed blonde daughter with dimples. And I’ve got her, haven’t I, love? You’re all mine.”
“Except for the twenty-three chromosomes from me.”
Dorotea twisted her head backwards over her shoulder and burbled moistly at her mother.
“Love at first bite,” Lajos said in a mutter of mock surliness. “There’s a conspiracy of females against this poor lone male.”
Dorotea impartially gurgled at him, her eyes bright and wide and happy.
“You never had it so good,” said Ruth.
And Lajos privately admitted the truth of that. Ruth was so enthralled with her daughter, their apartment had a noticeable atmosphere of benevolence. He was more relaxed than ever, and despite an increase in Incidents, extending beyond his usual affinity, he suffered less from the depressions and exhaustions that were the inevitable postlude.
The day
Op Owen shook his head, his lips pursed in thought. “She has wanted a child desperately. As a mother wants a child: not as a Talented person wants evidence of succession.” He spoke slowly, the words dragged out of his mouth as if he were sorting the thoughts. “Lajos says that although Ruth is a great help and very understanding, sometimes his Incidents bother her more than she admits. Let’s just let things take their course. We’ll keep an eye on them.”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them, huh?” Frames sighed. “Wish you’d let that attitude spill over into other areas, Dave.”
Op Owen regarded the doctor intently. “I can conceivably bend a little privately, for the benefit of those under my care, but I cannot as easily rationalize the broader issue which I cannot oversee or control.”
“All right Dave, but I feel, and Jod Andres feels, that private reactions are a strong basis for predicting public ones. You’re reluctant to tell Ruth Honrath, a girl conditioned and trained to accept Talent that her child shows exceedingly strong telepathic Talent. You willingly want to broadcast information that even frightens me, and I’m Talented, to a public that is in no way conditioned to accept a fragment of that knowledge. The two attitudes cannot be reconciled.”
“The ethical position of the Talented must never be questioned.”
“Dave,” and there was entreaty in Jerry Frames’s voice and manner, “
you
are unable to be unethical. The withholding of prejudicial knowledge is not unethical, it’s plain good ol’ common sense. Which you are sensibly applying to Ruth Horvath’s case. How many times I have considered telling a patient he’s bought it and how few times haveI actually come clean. Very few people can stand the whole, complete, unvarnished truth.”
“I hang between, in doubt to act or rest,” op Owen said, resigned as well as frustrated.
“What’s that?”
“I apologize, Jerry. Your point is well taken. I’ve erred—on the side of the angels, I hope—but this attitude of mine towards Ruth Horvath
is
a curious vacillation from my tendency to be forthright. Yet I know that there is a reason to be slightly devious.”
“Then you’ll ease back on this all-open-and-above-board routine?”
“Yes, I’ll ease back as you put it.”
“Still,” and Jerry frowned slightly, “it isn’t as if they won’t find out soon enough.” He meant the Horvaths.
“They need time to get used to the idea.” Op Owen was thinking about humanity.
“Where on earth did she get those blue eyes?” Lajos asked as he sat entranced by his three-month-old daugher’s attempts to capture her toes. She flopped over, gurgling cheerfully to herself.
“Heavens, it’s possible,” Ruth replied, beaming fatuously as she caught her daughter’s eye. “I may be grey-eyed, and you brown, but we both have ancesters with blue eyes—four generations back.”
“I always said you were recessive, hon.”
“Humph. I don’t mind in the least, not if it produces a blue-eyed blonde daughter with dimples. And I’ve got her, haven’t I, love? You’re all mine.”
“Except for the twenty-three chromosomes from me.”
Dorotea twisted her head backwards over her shoulder and burbled moistly at her mother.
“Love at first bite,” Lajos said in a mutter of mock surliness. “There’s a conspiracy of females against this poor lone male.”
Dorotea impartially gurgled at him, her eyes bright and wide and happy.
“You never had it so good,” said Ruth.
And Lajos privately admitted the truth of that. Ruth was so enthralled with her daughter, their apartment had a noticeable atmosphere of benevolence. He was more relaxed than ever, and despite an increase in Incidents, extending beyond his usual affinity, he suffered less from the depressions and exhaustions that were the inevitable postlude.
The day
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