TALENT
She was eighteen Standard, not quite fifteen Irschchan years old,basking in the sun beside a fountain as she considered the merits ofvarious young males as mate potential. She wasn't really interested inbeing tied down that way, and hoped to avoid it by going to theAcademy, but on such a nice day, why not indulge her parents' moreconventional desires?
Loren of the Order was probably the best match genetically, andsocially of course a mate in the Order was desirable. Still, though hewas nice enough, he simply wasn't very bright. Lovad Koversa might beall right; he was quite intelligent, if no more Talented than she--
Suddenly she heard him talking to himself about the Academy, though shehadn't heard him approach. "Lovad?" she called, sitting up and lookingaround. As soon as she did that, the voice disappeared. He wasnowhere in sight, and she wondered with some irritation what kind ofstunt he was up to now.
That was Lovad's worst point: he was a joker, and liked to use hisknowledge of electronics to play tricks. It was never anythingharmful, though, just annoying. She got up, deciding to see if shecould turn it against him. None of the trees near the fountain hadtrunks large enough to hide behind, so she wandered around, looking upthrough the silvery-green foliage to find him. No trace; he must havecome up with a long-distance gadget and was trying it out on her.
She'd get back at him somehow, but meanwhile this day was too nice towaste worrying about him. She returned to the fountain and stretchedout again, relaxing to the sound of the falling water. She thoughtidly of her mother, who owned a moderately prosperous kilt shop. Anindignant Mother: *Trade vegetables for kilts indeed! This is noback-country village--*
She sat up again suddenly, and again the voice disappeared as shetensed. This couldn't be one of Lovad's jokes, not with her motherinvolved. It had to be telepathy . . . and that meant she did haveTalent . . . and that meant . . .