CHAPTER 1

You always see the other person’s side,” said Laura. “Even the boss’s, especially when he fires you.”

She swept the compact into her purse and stood up. “Now see if you can understand my point of view.” With a withering contempt in her eyes she swung the purse to her shoulder and walked rapidly away.

Hal Talbot stared morosely at his drink. The worst of it was—he knew exactly how she felt. In spite of what everyone professed to believe empathy was a dreadful handicap. He had more than his share of it, and he couldn’t even hold down a simple lousy job.

He raised the glass and saw through it a man—a total stranger—standing beside the booth in amused expectation. The hell with him, Talbot thought. He drank the beer and set the glass down.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” the stranger asked.

Talbot looked him over carefully. He was well-dressed—too well-dressed—and he conformed in virtually every other respect to the popular conception of the executive, suave and so completely sure of himself. Therefore—he probably wasn’t.

“Suit yourself,” grunted Talbot.

The man sat down and ordered for both of them. It was all right with Talbot. He could have paid for the drinks, but he was keenly aware that his dwindling resources wouldn’t last long.

“I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation,” said the man.

“We have all our fights in public,” said Talbot, with embittered irony. “It makes things more final.”

The stranger stared at him steadily for an instant, his brows contracted. Then he asked: “Are you sure this is final?”

“You heard what she said. I can’t hold a job.”

“That’s precisely what I mean. You seem capable enough. I’m curious as to the reason.”

Talbot looked at the other more intently. He was a man of much the same general build as Talbot, but he appeared to be five or six years older.

“I mean no offense,” said the man. He fumbled in his pocket and held out a card.

Talbot took it. There was a single word in bold black letters on one side: TRANSPORTATION. The crosses on the T’s were spaceships. On the other side was a name: evan soleri, vice-president in charge of research. Talbot curled his fingers around the card.

The man smiled. “Just call me Evan.”

“All right, Evan. You’re going to offer me a job.” Talbot settled back comfortably. Things were falling into the routine pattern again.

“Perhaps. But first—do you mind telling me why you keep getting fired?”

“I don’t mind,” said Talbot. He was used to impertinent and stupid questions. He was used to getting jobs in odd places and to the ups and downs that always seemed to straighten themselves out eventually. Some day perhaps he’d find himself in a situation from which all his empathy couldn’t rescue him. But he’d worry about that when it came.

“You want to know why I get fired?” he asked, drawing the beer to him, and scowling across it. “Well, I’ll tell you. I meet someone like you. We talk, and are friendly. First thing you know he is offering me a job. I take it. In the beginning everything’s fine. I have a knack of knowing exactly what he wants. I get a raise practically overnight.

“Then one day his boss comes in and wants something in a hurry. So he talks to me very earnestly about it. Before anyone realizes what has taken place his boss is depending on me instead of on him. So what can he do? He finds some pretext and fires me.”

Evan Soleri nodded. “And you don’t object?”

“I get mad, naturally,” said Talbot. “But what else could he do? He’s worked hard for the job and I come along and threaten to take it away. The point is—I’ve got no special qualification.”

“Except empathy.”

“Except that,” agreed Talbot. He took a long drink and set the glass down. “It’s funny. I get along well with people but my adjustment index isn’t so good.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Soleri. “Do you mind showing me your employment card?”

“Sure—step number one,” said Talbot. “When do I start?” He handed over the card, and waved to the waiter for refills in the same motion.

Soleri frowned at the card. “I notice you haven’t been tested in seven years. Why haven’t you gone back for re-evaluation?”

“It costs money,” Talbot replied. “Anyway, aptitudes don’t change much after twenty-four.”

“That’s usually true,” said Soleri, returning the card.

“When do I start?” said Talbot. “To save trouble shall I have them make out the termination notice at the same time? They can safely date it two months in advance. I usually last that long.”

“You may be surprised.” Soleri smiled. “I’ve a feeling you can work well at the top. You’ve been starting too low.”

Talbot studied the executive. Curiously enough, he had the same feeling—if he ever got to the top. It was hard to do on ability alone. He never lasted long enough for anyone to find out how good he was. “What sort of work am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Interested?” said Soleri. “Have you heard of the perfect rocket motor?”

“I’ve heard of it. Everybody has.” Talbot disposed of the beer. “It’s out of my line, though. I’m strictly business administration.”

“Don’t prejudge what I have in mind,” said Soleri. “Have you also heard of Fred Frescura?”

“The heat scientist?”

“That’s right. The foremost heat and rocket scientist.” Soleri moved the glass aside. “As you know, present rockets are pretty poor. They take us around the solar system, but that’s all. And they don’t do that very well. Anyway, there’s mathematical proof that the theoretically perfect rocket motor can be built. We’ve been working on it for the past six years.”

“Why come to me?” said Talbot. “I can’t help.”

“Don’t be so sure. We want your empathy.”

“You can have it,” said Talbot. “Look. One point five on the card, maybe actually one point four by now. It levels off. You know the standard curve as well as I do.”

“The standard curve doesn’t always fit. That’s what I want to discuss.”

Talbot might have stayed to talk it over, but he caught a strong surge of panic from the executive. Panic or trouble—or both. He didn’t want either. He had quite enough of his own. It wasn’t every day he lost his job and his girl walked out on him.

“I don’t feel in the mood for hashing this over,” he affirmed. “You’re expecting a woman anyway.”

Soleri smiled quizzically. “See? I told you that you’re underestimating the strength of your empathy.”

“Nothing to it. You were looking at every pair of legs that came by.”

“I don’t think it was that easy. Why don’t you wait? Randy will be here any minute.”

Talbot shook his head. “There’s no telling what Laura will do when she wanders out like this. She won’t go home, that’s for sure.”

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

“You can’t get a test tonight,” argued Talbot. “And a test is the only thing that will give us real information. I know what you’re going to suggest—that I come in tomorrow morning. Fine. So I’ll do it—tomorrow morning.”

Again Soleri smiled. “I said that you were my man. Now I’m sure of it. Will you come in early, at seven thirty, say?”

Talbot could feel the other’s panic diminish. Maybe he was even better than he thought—if he could produce that effect just by agreeing. “Seven thirty is pretty early,” he said.

“There’s a reason for it,” Soleri assured him.

“I bet.”

Soleri took out a card and scribbled some careful directions on it. “Here,” he said. “Come in this way. Just walk right in. There won’t be anyone there at that hour of the morning except me.”

“Sure.” Talbot stuffed the card in his pocket and wandered over to the screen booth. He had trouble getting the connection, but when he did her father answered.

He had been correct in his assumption. He came out of the booth and stood for an instant at the bar, gulping down a drink. His head turned to follow the progress of a woman who had just entered the cafe. She had deep brown eyes and blonde hair, and a great deal more. That helped. She was not only pretty—she was spectacular. He liked spectacular women.

She went on by, and stopped at the booth occupied by Soleri. Quite obviously she was Randy. For a moment he regretted his decision to go in search of Laura. But only for a moment. Common sense told him he wouldn’t have a chance of taking a woman like that away from a vice-president of TRANSPORTATION. The company just happened to be the largest in existence.

Still, it felt good to have a man of Soleri’s importance seek him out. He rolled the thought around in his mind. It was unquestionably true. Soleri had come looking for him. He knew it the way he knew so many things—without thinking, by feeling alone, by the ability to put himself in another’s place.

By the time the thought had come full circle in his mind Randy and Soleri were gone. It was Laura now—or nothing.

He went in search of her. She was not in any of the bars she usually frequented. She was nowhere. There could be no doubt that she was mad at him this time, and would be for weeks—even when she learned what he had coming up. She wanted to get married and was furious with him for daring to put her off.

It took him quite a while to become absolutely convinced he wasn’t going to find her on what remained of his time, money, and drinking capacity. He started home and Laura slipped out of his mind.

It certainly wasn’t accidental—his meeting with Soleri. Soleri had been looking for him. But why? How had he known where to look? Talbot couldn’t concentrate solidly on the problem. It was all he could do to figure out where the street was going to sway to next.

One thing was certain. He’d have a lot of questions to ask Soleri in the morning.