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He lit it, and his son Rodrik appeared in it, with Snooks, the little red hound, squirming excitedly in the Crown Prince’s arms. The dog began barking at once, and the boy called through the phone:

“Good morning, father; are you busy?”

“Oh, not at all.” He pressed the release button. “Come on in.”

Immediately, the little hound leaped out of the princely arms and came dashing into the study and around the desk, jumping onto his lap. The boy followed more slowly, sitting down in the deskside chair and drawing his foot up under him. Paul greeted Snooks first–people can wait, but for little dogs everything has to be right now–and rummaged in a drawer until he found some wafers, holding one for Snooks to nibble. Then he became aware that his son was wearing leather shorts and tall buskins.

“Going out somewhere?” he asked, a trifle enviously.

“Up in the mountains, for a picnic. Olva’s going along.”

And his tutor, and his esquire, and Olva’s companion-lady, and a dozen Thoran riflemen, of course, and they’d be in continuous screen-contact with the Palace.

“That ought to be a lot of fun. Did you get all your lessons done?”

“Physics and math and galactiography,” Rodrik told him. “And Professor Guilsan’s going to give me and Olva our history after lunch.”

They talked about lessons, and about the picnic. Of course, Snooks was going on the picnic, too. It was evident, though, that Rodrik had something else on his mind. After a while, he came out with it.

“Father, you know I’ve been a little afraid, lately,” he said.

“Well, tell me about it, son. It isn’t anything about you and Olva, is it?”

Rod was fourteen; the little Princess Olva thirteen. They would be marriageable in six years. As far as anybody could tell, they were both quite happy about the marriage which had been arranged for them years ago.

“Oh, no; nothing like that. But Olva’s sister and a couple others of mother’s ladies-in-waiting were to a psi-medium, and the medium told them that there were going to be changes. Great and frightening changes was what she said.”

“She didn’t specify?”

“No. Just that: great and frightening changes. But the only change of that kind I can think of would be … well, something happening to you.”

Snooks, having eaten three wafers, was trying to lick his ear. He pushed the little dog back into his lap and pummeled him gently with his left hand.

“You mustn’t let mediums’ gabble worry you, son. These psi-mediums have real powers, but they can’t turn them off and on like a water tap. When they don’t get anything, they don’t like to admit it, and they invent things. Always generalities like that; never anything specific.”

“I know all that.” The boy seemed offended, as though somebody were explaining that his mother hadn’t really found him out in the rose garden. “But they talked about it to some of their friends, and it seems that other mediums are saying the same thing. Father, do you remember when the Haval Valley reactor blew up? All over Odin, the mediums had been talking about a terrible accident, for a month before that happened.”

“I remember that.” Harv Dorflay believed that somebody had been falsely informed that the emperor would visit the plant that day. “These great and frightening changes will probably turn out to be a new fad in abstract sculpture. Any change frightens most people.”

They talked more about mediums, and then about aircars and aircar racing, and about the Emperor’s Cup race that was to be flown in a month. The communications screen began flashing and buzzing, and after he had silenced it with the busy-button for the third time, Rodrik said that it was time for him to go, came around to gather up Snooks, and went out, saying that he’d be home in time for the banquet. The screen began to flash again as he went out.