Things would probably have been very different had one Alfred Bester been slightly more interested in statistics. In one universe, he was...
The study on the incidences of telepathy in humans had been stultifyingly boring to the teenaged Alfred Bester who'd been cramming for a test that he'd planned on getting another 110% on. That was until...
The passage was barely noticeable, tacked somewhere between a summary of the breakdown of the population in the Teeptown outside Geneva in which he lived, and the full census of the telepath population of the planet.
Apparently - according to latest statistics - approximately one in every one-thousand two-hundred and fifty humans was a telepath. In the generation before, it had been one in every one-thousand five-hundred, and it was projected to be one in a thousand in the coming generation. One of the reasons for this was that the safety of the Corps had allowed telepaths to breed in greater numbers.
The Corps wouldn't always be there to protect them though. He'd heard it in the hidden whispers amongst the adults who could sense that war was coming and quietly prayed that it wouldn't be in their generation or the one after, especially since there weren't nearly enough telepaths to hold their own against the onslaught.
There weren't nearly enough, but if numbers could be edged in their favor...
Many years later, a nearly seventy year old Alfred Bester reflected that he was getting too old for this as he destroyed all of the existing samples in the sperm bank and replaced them with samples that had come from carefully hand-picked volunteers, being careful to order them exactly how the previous samples had been, according to the size, body type, and the ethnicity of the donor.
Eventually, the job was done, and the strike team was out of there.
"Well gentlemen, the night's still young, and we seem to still have time to hit the local bars." he said, smiling proudly at the team who'd effectively neutralized the sperm bank's security. "Everyone, be sure to remember your testing kits, we don't want a repeat of what happened to Givens."
After the team had broken up, Bester headed into a rather likely looking tavern. He was still capable after all, and after over fifty years of this, he was able to spot a lonely young lady who wasn't up to date on her birth control from a mile off.
Everything he did, he did for the good of the Corps.
Meanwhile, in the Teeptown just outside Geneva:
"Alfred Bester Junior, please report to the Director's office. Alfred Bester Junior, please report to the Director's office."
"You're new here aren't you?" one of the secretaries asked the receptionist who'd summoned Alfred Bester's offspring.
"Yes, why?" the young receptionist asked.
The secretary didn't say a word, just winced and shuddered as a thundering of feet sounded in the distance and got ever closer with each passing second.
A minute later, Alfred Bester Junior reported to the Director's office.
All three-hundred and twenty-seven of them.