Foresight

Scimitar stared out at the rain.

The deliberate fall and swing of each drop on the pavement below and on the awning above filled her head near to bursting with visions, as the lattices of infinite possibility swung around her, like the vast dance of all the mass in the universe.

She saw the car that was to skid in a reckless hydroplane in a single drop that fell before her, the single drop that finally made the puddle below deep enough to defeat the tire’s tread.

She saw the woman who was to collide with her future fiancé in another single drop, the drop that filled the saturation point of her white shirt, making her look down at it in frustrated annoyance.

She saw the drop that was to land on a man’s umbrella just as the wind turned it inside out, drenching his perfect charcoal grey suit, ruining his upcoming interview.

The images hummed in her head, possibilities forming and collapsing into an unalterable history with the descent of every bit of water from the sky.

It had been raining the day Scimitar’s powers awoke. The rain had almost driven her mad.

"Scim?"

She turned to him. "Is everything ready?"
Oryx smiled, his teeth glowing in the dark face. "I left your note on his desk this morning." He hitched his sack of tools onto his shoulder. She echoed his smile, raised her cell phone, and dialed.

The phone on the huge cherry wood desk rang. William Gideon picked it up.

"Sue?"

"I think it’s her, sir."

Gideon glanced at the anonymous note on his desk. "Put it through."

"Who is this?" Gideon demanded.

"Mr. Gideon. Did you enjoy the free trial of our services?"

"Enjoy? No. Respect, perhaps."

"You don’t sound pleased. I could arrange another demonstration."

"No, thanks. Why me?"

"Business."

"My forte. I’m listening."

"My partner and I would like to work for you."

"You can get an application for employment from my secretary."

"We’re not the kind of people you want on your official payroll."

"Again, I ask, why?"

"Because you want history to remember you, don't you? Meet us downtown, at the Silver Diner, in two hours."

"I haven’t agreed to anything."

"We understand completely."

Gideon sat facing a man and a woman. The man was tall, thin, and dark, built like the spear his people still hunted with. She was a mongrel American, with round hazel eyes and an olive cast to her skin.

"Oryx," the man said. His speech was colored by his native tongue and by British English. "And Scimitar."

Gideon nodded in greeting. "What do you propose?"

"As you might have guessed," Oryx said, "I am the one who left that note for you. My partner wrote it. Seeing the possibilities is her talent. Helping her increase the probability of certain futures is mine."
"Together, you can make the future happen as you will?"

Oryx’s smile was blinding.

"Continue."

Scimitar spoke. "I have seen a number of futures that figure you rather prominently, Mr. Gideon. If you follow our advice, you could end up becoming the richest man in America."

Gideon snorted. "I could follow my business plan and end up as the richest man in America."

"No," Scimitar replied. "You couldn’t."

It was all very simple.

Gideon was to arrange the timely buyout of a small neurological company, which happened to be a rival of his own neurological research department. He was to layoff half the staff, then subsume the company as his own.

"For this," said he, "you want me to pay you?"