"I need his services," he told her.

"Of course." She stepped to the stand and touched switches. Two additional status lights flashed on. "Charley," she said quietly, "the admiral needs you."

Charley Gordon, that's the name. Presumably he'd been given it at the Institute. Soong wondered how that had happened. The savant's one-page personnel brief listed him as Male Infant Doe, followed by a registration number. A designation dating to when he was processed into the Institute.

"Ah! The admiral!" said Charley Gordon. "Good day, sir. I'm happy to be of service. Do we have a moment?"

The response astonished Soong. His impression had been that idiot savants were invariably retarded, by definition. And till now, Charley had never spoken in his presence except in trance, channeling messages from War House. Now this request for "a moment."

Soong answered solemnly: "A moment, yes. Then I must have your help."

"It is my privilege to serve." The statement sounded, and might well have been, sincere. Certainly Soong discerned no irony in it. "Meanwhile," the voice went on, "I shall take advantage of my moment." It paused. "You never visit me except for my services. Perhaps if I invite you, you will. Therefore, will you visit me? For friendly conversation, man to man?"

This question too took Soong off guard. "Why… If you'd like, yes. We'll soon enter hyperspace again, this time for an extended period. I'll visit you then."

"Thank you, Admiral. I will hold you to that." Again Charley Gordon paused. It seemed to Soong the savant had turned his gaze to his attendant, though the ocular sensors were immobile. There had to be a means of directing visual attention. "Ophelia," Charley Gordon said, "I am ready."

"Good," she replied, and paused. "We will now start. Begin the session." She looked expectantly at the admiral.

"Begin the session" was the standard formula that triggered Charley Gordon's trance. Soong began his message.

It had an unspoken context, one familiar to both himself, the prime minister, and War House. Soong had been given a four-week limit to finish training his battle force, then reluctantly granted a four-week extension. He was still not fully satisfied with its exercises in cross-dimensional combat. And it was entirely possible, if unlikely, for a battle to involve rapid transitions between warpspace and F-space. But his people had become basically competent, and three days earlier Admiral Tischendorf had told him there could be no further extension. The Commonwealth and the human species couldn't afford it.

Thus, Soong's message to War House and the prime minister was expected and succinct: "At 1100 hours Greenwich, this date, the 1st Sol Provisional Battle Force will generate hyperspace and proceed to the vicinity of the Nei Frieslan System. There we will determine what further jump seems appropriate for the effective interception and engagement of the enemy armada. Meanwhile I will contact you at appropriate intervals, and of course remain receptive of your orders and advices. Admiral Alvaro Soong, Commander."

A minute later, his message acknowledged, Soong left the savant's quarters. Thinking not of his responsibility, nor of his force's battle readiness, but of Charley Gordon, his strange power, and his seeming intelligence.

Soong often learned a great deal about people from their faces-their expressions and their eyes. But Charley Gordon? At least until very recently, savants had faces too. The only savant he'd seen before, he'd observed at War House before getting his present assignment. Chloe was tiny, deformed, and severely retarded, but her face, unexpressive though it had been, had permitted him to watch her consciousness shut down when her attendant spoke the brief hypnotic formula. Her features had fallen slack, and he'd known she was in trance.

Charley Gordon's apparent intelligence was far more interesting. I'm glad he invited me to visit him, Soong realized. I would never have thought to invite myself.

He decided to make his visit that evening, and calling Ophelia Kennah, arranged for a specific time. Then he asked a question: "Is Charley as intelligent as he seemed to be this morning?"

"Just a moment," she replied. He imagined her looking toward her charge, to see if he could overhear. Apparently he had his external sound sensor turned off, perhaps listening to music. "Charley's intelligence is an enigma," she answered. "He does-indifferently on intelligence tests which measure reasoning ability, though better than any other savant I'm aware of. But he does exceedingly well on rote memory tests, as do many other savants."

"Interesting. He memorizes things then."

"If by `memorize' you mean an effort to imprint a visual or auditory experience, or to create a mnemonic to assist recall-no. He simply experiences things, then recalls them exactly. He can recite extensively and verbatim from biographies of great composers."

"So he reads."

"He does, but prefers audiobooks. He plays them at a rate incomprehensible to me-a high-pitched twittering. Faster than I can read them silently."

The admiral stared. She paused. "I haven't finished answering your first question. A test of intuitive intelligence was being circulated before we left Terra, a preliminary version for testing and professional critiques. I tried it on Charley. His score was nearly the highest possible. I sent a report on it to War House, but when we left, I hadn't had an answer. It seemed to me he might be of greater value there than here.

"Formal tests, of course, do not correlate perfectly with life performance. Charley sometimes produces marvelously logical replies to questions; produces them intuitively. If he is allowed a hand in directing your conversation with him, I do not doubt you'll be pleased and impressed. On the other hand, if you arrive with a list of questions, you may be disappointed. I recommend you simply open the conversation and let things develop as they may."

Soong wondered what Ophelia Kennah's intelligence score was.

She paused, then added: "Charley tires rather easily. The central nervous system tires; that's one reason students need rest and recreation. Channeling and other psychic activities tire it more than most. Typically, psychics hold up reasonably well during the activity, but if it's protracted, they may collapse afterward.

"Excitement may also tire Charley. He's not used to it, and having an actual visitor will be exciting for him."

Alvaro Soong's attention had been hooked by the mention of psychic activities. Like many people, he tended to respond skeptically to the word "psychic." The field of psychodynamics had risen above alchemy and Freudian psychology, to about the level of the phlogiston theory, but had yet to birth its Newton or Lavoisier. A few psychic applications had become routine in the world, but these were no longer thought of as "psychic." The term tended to be reserved for fringe activities and fakery.

But what the communication savants did was genuine enough. And the instructions on the management of savant communicators had warned against overworking them.

"Are there subjects I shouldn't bring up?" Soong asked.

"Charley is emotionally quite stable," Kennah answered. "I know of no subjects you should avoid. He is perfectly willing to discuss his condition and history. And yours, if it comes up."

The admiral's appointment was for 2000 hours, and he was there on time. To find Charley not listening to a cube; he was waiting, ready. "Hello, Admiral," he said. Pleasure and anticipation were apparent in his voice.

Remarkable, Soong thought, that his equipment reflects emotion so well. "Hello, Charley," he answered. "Or would you prefer I call you Charles?"