"Yes," I said stubbornly.
"Can you hear mine? Can you project yours to me?"
I was silent. This was one of the barriers I had run into every time I reviewed the facts in my mind. There was one answer I had tried to accept, but even as I voiced it now I knew it didn't sound convincing.
"Perhaps true telepathy—direct and conscious tele-communication as opposed to the random reception of a thought—requires two beings capable of extra-sensory perception in a highly developed degree—sender and receiver."
"Which would help to explain why this—this talent of yours hasn't revealed itself before now."
"But it has! That is, there were things like the vision of my father's death—not telepathy but related experience, clairvoyance."
"Yes." The scientist frowned. "You will forgive me, Mr. Cameron, if I do not give too much weight to that experience. It's not at all uncommon. People envision harm to those close to them every day and it is inevitable that they will think it extraordinary when one day something does happen."
"But I didn't even know my father existed!"
"Perhaps." The voice was gentle, the blue eyes kindly. "You could easily have known that he did, by deduction or through some chance remark of your mother's. You could have reached the conclusion subconsciously while not admitting it on a conscious level because you found the fact unpleasant to face."
"That's possible," I said slowly, unconvinced.