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understand them. Not many people have made the mental leap. He had to find his own money to fund the research to support those ideas, and in doing so, he simply exploited the stupidity of others. You see, there are two types of people in this world, Cadel—"
    "I know, I know," Cadel interrupted. "I read about it. Two types of people, like two types of DNA. But
I
wouldn't like to lose money in a soft-drink machine."
    "Cadel, you wouldn't." Thaddeus spoke patiently. "If you ever set your mind to it, you'd never have to pay money into a vending machine ever again. You're the sort of person who would develop a means of getting the drink without paying the money. You have a supergenetic blueprint, Cadel—just like your father. The world is going to hell precisely because the junk DNA of stupid and talentless people has been swamping the potential of the human race. Think about it, Cadel. Think about what
you
have to put up with. It's as if you've been dragging invisible shackles around, isn't it? No one
wants
you to spread your wings. You're regarded as a problem, not a solution. Everywhere you turn, people want to rein you in. Stop you from doing what you want."
    It was true. Cadel stared in astonishment.
    "Have you heard about Galileo?" said Thaddeus. "Galileo was scorned and imprisoned because of his views, which were ahead of their time. One day, Cadel, your father will receive the recognition he deserves."
    Cadel wondered. He wasn't completely convinced. But he
was
interested. After a long time, he said, "Do you know what I like about you? I like the way you talk to me. No one else talks to me the way you do. People treat me like ... like..." Words failed him, briefly.
    "Like an eight-year-old?" Thaddeus suggested, with a smile.
    "Like I'm stupid," said Cadel. "Like I don't understand."
    "Which isn't an error I'm likely to make."
    "You're the only one who doesn't expect me to be stupid."
    "As to that, I should point out two things," Thaddeus replied. "Firstly, most adults would find it impossible to admit that a child is smarter than they are. Secondly, your father is not among this group of people." Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. "He would very much like to speak to you, Cadel. If you have no objection."
    Cadel had been swinging his legs. He froze. He stared, then swallowed. "On the phone, you mean?" he asked warily.
    "I think not. Your father is under constant surveillance. He's had to find alternative methods of contacting me."
    "How?"
    "Via transmitter." A slow smile spread across the psychologist's face. "As a matter of fact, it's hidden in his arthritis bangle."
    Cadel blinked.
    "His first transmitter was in his wristwatch," Thaddeus continued, "but they took that away."
    "It must be a pretty small transmitter."
    "It's wired with DNA."
    Cadel caught his breath.
    "It's
what?
"
    "You heard me." Thaddeus winked. "Someone was bound to master the technique sometime, and Dr. Darkkon has the obvious background."
    "But ... but ..." Cadel's mind was working furiously. "But DNA is a bad conductor. Unless it's a substrate for metal plating, and that's so much work."
    Thaddeus lifted a hand. "Don't ask me for details," he said firmly. "Your father's the one who understands—your father and his nanotechnology department."
    "There's been no news." Cadel could hardly believe his ears. "Nothing. Not on the Internet or in the papers."
    "Of course not. If no one knows it's even
possible
to hide a transmitter in an arthritis bangle, why would anyone think to look?" Thaddeus surveyed Cadel over the top of his clasped hands. "Well?" he drawled. "What do you say, Cadel? A fifteen-minute conversation during our next session together. How does that sound?"
    "Fine," said Cadel, but his voice was flat. Experience had taught him to be cautious, and he still didn't know how he felt about his father. Only about Thaddeus.
    He trusted Thaddeus, and admired him. If Thaddeus thought he should speak to Dr. Darkkon, then he would—no matter how nervous