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The Right Time
"Don't let the old goat rattle you, Pheola," I said as we rode the elevator to the penthouse. "He'll try. Just remember, he is the one who has to say O.K. if we are to give you some training."
Her eyes rolled and she moaned softly, clinging to my arm. "Oh, Billy Joe!" she whispered. "I _don't_ want to fail you!"
Maragon has some pretty creepy types in his office and the receptionist that day was no exception. She was one of those twitchy hyper-thyroid clairvoyants that he likes to test.
"Don't tell me," the receptionist twitched proudly as we came in. "I know!" She got up from behind her desk and led us to the Grand Master's private office.
I intended to make her guess whom I had with me, but that didn't bother her. "Dr. Walter Bupp and Pheola Rountree," she announced smugly. Clairvoyants live in a condition of perpetual thrill with their powers.
Maragon's penthouse office has glass walls on two sides. He was prowling back and forth in front of his desk, sharply lit by the bright sunlight that streamed in. His gray shock of hair glistened, and his bushy eyebrows shaded his face. He radiated impatience, from the grinding of his square jaw to the fists he had rammed into his hips.
"Lefty," he greeted me, "do they all have to _look_ alike? Where did you get _this_ scarecrow?"
I could feel Pheola stiffen. I guess no woman, no matter how plain, likes to be reminded of it.
"Same place you dig up those twitchy CV types you have spooking up your outer office," I snapped. "There's nothing the matter with Pheola that three square meals won't cure in a month!"
Her eyes rolled and she moaned softly, clinging to my arm. "Oh, Billy Joe!" she whispered. "I _don't_ want to fail you!"
Maragon has some pretty creepy types in his office and the receptionist that day was no exception. She was one of those twitchy hyper-thyroid clairvoyants that he likes to test.
"Don't tell me," the receptionist twitched proudly as we came in. "I know!" She got up from behind her desk and led us to the Grand Master's private office.
I intended to make her guess whom I had with me, but that didn't bother her. "Dr. Walter Bupp and Pheola Rountree," she announced smugly. Clairvoyants live in a condition of perpetual thrill with their powers.
Maragon's penthouse office has glass walls on two sides. He was prowling back and forth in front of his desk, sharply lit by the bright sunlight that streamed in. His gray shock of hair glistened, and his bushy eyebrows shaded his face. He radiated impatience, from the grinding of his square jaw to the fists he had rammed into his hips.
"Lefty," he greeted me, "do they all have to _look_ alike? Where did you get _this_ scarecrow?"
I could feel Pheola stiffen. I guess no woman, no matter how plain, likes to be reminded of it.
"Same place you dig up those twitchy CV types you have spooking up your outer office," I snapped. "There's nothing the matter with Pheola that three square meals won't cure in a month!"
24 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 4, 2010
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 1, 2026
Fun, snappy little sci-fi story, one in a series about an organisation of individuals gifted with various psionic powers.
Telekinetic surgeon Lefty Bupp brings a new precog "witch" called Pheola Rountree to the Lodge, where her unique combination of precognition and healing abilities immediately prove to be a lifesaver for the Grand Master, Mr. Maragon.
Walter Bupp is credited as the author, a pseudonym for John Berryman (no, not that John Berryman). Pheola goes all gooey eyed for her mentor Lefty, yet her powers are truly extraordinary and mark her out as the heroine.
Despite the telekinetic stuff the underlying science seemed actually pretty sound, the dialogue was sharp and witty. I liked it.
First published in Analog magazine, December 1963.
Telekinetic surgeon Lefty Bupp brings a new precog "witch" called Pheola Rountree to the Lodge, where her unique combination of precognition and healing abilities immediately prove to be a lifesaver for the Grand Master, Mr. Maragon.
Walter Bupp is credited as the author, a pseudonym for John Berryman (no, not that John Berryman). Pheola goes all gooey eyed for her mentor Lefty, yet her powers are truly extraordinary and mark her out as the heroine.
Despite the telekinetic stuff the underlying science seemed actually pretty sound, the dialogue was sharp and witty. I liked it.
First published in Analog magazine, December 1963.
Displaying 1 of 1 review