The Dark Symphony

couldn't. All their miserable lives, they could never be sure. But with mirrors…"
    "If you are Gypsy Eyes—" Guil began unsuccessfully.
    The old Popular stood and walked slowly through the colored shadows toward the window. "Still, mirrors have their faults. We can't use them to look ahead. We can look behind or look at the
now
, but we can't look ahead with them. Turn them front to reflect what's ahead, and you can't see them anyhow. So they're not really valuable, all these mirrors."
    Then, with a sudden fury, he threw himself past Guil, into the out-thrusting balcony, crashing against the thick glass. He bounced off, crumpled to the floor. For a moment, Guil almost laughed. It had seemed like some slapstick stunt, some routine to gain laughter. Then he was able to remember the force with which the mutant had slammed against the window, remembered the stunning reverberation of the collision. It must have hurt. Yet, like a moth to the flame, Gypsy Eyes rose and heaved himself at the pane once more. Again, he toppled backwards. And, yet again, he rose.
    The hollow boom of flesh against the unbreakable shield filled the room. Guil turned to Strong, but though concerned, the big man did nothing to stop Gypsy Eyes' attempts at suicide. He had seen it all before. Maybe many times.
    "Stop him!" he called.
    Strong did not make a move.
    Because
, Guil thought,
that glass will hold, and this is just some crazy ritual, something we must watch, something he must do
.
    In the tank, fronds waved. Fishes swam. Outside, waves roared off the rocks.
    In time, Gypsy Eyes collapsed onto the lip of glass, staring down through the transparent floor at the rocks and the water. He was weeping; tears moved along the glass, glistening blue-green… Blue-green…
    "I asked you not to do it," Strong said, lifting the old man by his arms and helping him into his chair next to the fish tank. "Not until after the Day. That's only a week from now. We need you badly, Gypsy Eyes."
    The Popular straightened in his chair, trying to regain his dignity. He seemed less melancholy.
    "What did it look like?" Strong asked.
    "At this point, I saw a seventy-eight percent chance of death if I accompany you on the revolution into the Musician Sector."
    "That bad?" Strong lost some of his control, let his features slide down his face in a great frown.
    "Worse for me," Gypsy Eyes said. "I suffer a ninety-eight percent probability of death if I remain behind and do not accompany you."
    Strong looked puzzled. "Why?"
    "Because, without my assistance, you'll fail. And then the Musicians will come in here and teach us a lesson by wiping out half of us. Me included. The seventy-eight and ninety-eight are percentages for
my
success, remember. The revolution may fare better."
    Strong turned to Guil who stood dumbly watching and listening to the exchange. "Gypsy Eyes sees the future," he said.
    "No," the old man corrected him. "I see
all possible futures
. Countless futures. There's a difference. I can review the majority of possible futures in seven to ten seconds and determine the likelihood of the success or failure of most any event. I can't give you a detailed picture of anything. I'm a mirror with a crack in it. No, hundreds of cracks so that, in the little undamaged fragments, you can only see a tiny fraction of what you're looking for."
    Strong sank into" another chair, motioned Guil to a couch. "But Gyp gets too personal. He looks ahead too far, and he can't help looking ahead for his own fate. And every time, the fate is somewhat different, for the possible futures change as what happens in the present changes. He is constantly barraging himself with visions of his possible deaths, though thus far he is alive and healthy. I'm trying to keep him from searching into personal things, because if it's too gruesome at any given moment, he gets—what would you say, Gyp?"
    "Suicidal, I guess."
    "That's it. We just saw it happen again. Now, I asked you to promise to only look ahead at the chances of the revolution's success, not your own." He turned to Guil. "See, if I wondered whether a particular piece of strategy would get the results I sought in the battle in question, I would ask Gyp. He'd tell me the percentages. I'd either go ahead as planned or change strategies according to his view. He's invaluable. Unless he gets hung up on his own fate."
    "What did you come for?" Gypsy Eyes asked curiously, not angrily. There seemed to be no anger in the man, as if the