XIII.
By the time Malone reached the Statler Hilton Hotel it was six-twenty.Malone hadn't reckoned with New York's rush-hour traffic, and, afterseeing it, he still didn't believe it. Finding a cab had beenimpossible, and he had started for the subway, hoping that he wouldn'tget lost and end up somewhere in Brooklyn.
But one look at the shrieking mob trying to sardine itself into theSeventh Avenue subway entrance had convinced him it was better to walk.Bucking the street crowds was bad enough. Bucking the subway crowds wassomething Malone didn't even want to think about.
He let himself into his room, and was taking off his shoes with agrateful sigh when there was a rap on the door of the bathroom thatconnected his room with Boyd's. Malone padded over to the door, hisshoes in one hand. "Tom?" he said.
"You were expecting maybe Titus Moody?" Boyd called.
"O.K.," Malone said. "Come on in."
Boyd pushed open the door. He was stripped to the waist, a state ofdress which showed the largest expanse of chest Malone had ever seen,and he was carrying the small scissors which he used to trim his HenryVIII beard. He stabbed the scissors toward Malone, who shuffled backhurriedly.
"Listen," Boyd said, "did you call the office after you left thisafternoon?"
"No," Malone admitted. "Why? What happened?"
"There was a call for you," Boyd said. "Long Distance, just before Ileft at five. I came on back to the hotel and waited until I heard youcome in. Thought you might want to know about it."
"I do, I guess," Malone said. "Who from?" Looking at Boyd, a modern-dayHenry VIII, the association was too obvious to be missed. Malone thoughtof Good Queen Bess, and wondered why she was calling him again.
And--more surprising--why she'd called him at FBI headquarters, when shemust have known that he wasn't there.
"Dr. O'Connor," Boyd said.
"Oh," Malone said, somewhat relieved. "At Yucca Flats."
Boyd nodded. "Right," he said. "You're to call Operator Nine."
"Thanks." Malone went over to the phone, remembered his shoes and putthem down carefully on the floor. "Anything else of importance?" heasked.
"On the Cadillacs," Boyd said. "We've got a final report now. Leibowitzand Hardin finally finished checking the last of them--there weren'tquite as many as we were afraid there were going to be. Red isn't a verypopular color around here."
"Good," Malone said.
"And there isn't a doggone thing on any of 'em," Boyd said. "Oh, wecleared up a lot of small-time crime, one thing and another, but that'sabout all. No such thing as an electro-psionic brain to be foundanywhere in the lot. Leibowitz says he's willing to swear to it."
Malone sighed. "I didn't think he'd find one," he said.
"You didn't?"
"No," Malone said.
Boyd stabbed at him with the scissors again. "Then why did you cause allthat trouble?" he said.
"Because I thought we might find electro-psionic brains," Malone saidwearily. "Or one, anyhow."
"But you just said--"
Malone picked up the phone, got Long Distance and motioned Boyd tosilence in one sweeping series of moves. The Long Distance Operatorsaid: "Yes, sir? May we help you?"
"Give me Operator Nine," Malone said.
There was a buzz, a click and a new voice which said: "Operator Ni-yun.May we help you?"
"All nine of you?" Malone muttered. "Never mind. This is Kenneth Malone.I've got a call from Dr. Thomas O'Connor at Yucca Flats. Please connectme."
There was another buzz, a click and an ungodly howl which was followedby the voice of Operator Ni-yun saying: "We are connecting you. Therewill be a slight delay. We are sor-ree."
Malone waited. At last there was another small howl, and the screen litup. Dr. O'Connor's face, as stern and ascetic as ever, stared through atMalone.
"I understand you called me," Malone said.
"Ah, yes," Dr. O'Connor said. "It's very good to see you again, Mr.Malone." He gave Malone a smile good for exchange at your cornergrocery: worth, one icicle.
"It's good to see you, too," Malone lied.
"Mr. Burris explained to me what it was that you wanted to talk to meabout," O'Connor said. "Am I to understand that you have actually founda teleport?"
"Unless my theories are away off," Malone said, "I've done a lot betterthan that. I've found eight of them."
"Eight!" Dr. O'Connor's smile grew perceptibly warmed. It now stood atabout thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. "That is really excellent, Mr.Malone. You have done a fine job."
"Thanks," Malone muttered. He wished that O'Connor didn't make him feelquite so much like a first-year law student talking to an egomaniacalprofessor.
"When can you deliver them?" O'Connor said.
"Well," Malone said carefully, "that depends." O'Connor seemed to viewthe teleports as pieces of equipment, he thought. "I can't deliver themuntil I catch them," he said. "And that's why I wanted to talk to you."
"Some slight delay," Dr. O'Connor said, "will be quite understandable."His face left no doubt that he didn't like the necessity ofunderstanding anything that was going to keep him and the eightteleports apart for even thirty seconds longer, now that he knew aboutthem.
"You see," Malone said, "they're kids. Juvenile delinquents, orsomething like that. But they are teleports, that's for sure."
"I see," Dr. O'Connor said.
"So we've got to nab them," Malone said. "And for that I need all theinformation I can get."
Dr. O'Connor nodded slowly. "I'll be happy," he said, "to give you anyinformation I can provide."
* * * * *
Malone took a deep breath, and plunged. "How does this teleportation bitwork, anyhow?" he said.
"You've asked a very delicate question," Dr. O'Connor said. "Actually,we can't be quite positive." His expression showed just how little hewanted to make this admission. "However," he went on, brightening,"there is some evidence which seems to show that it is basically thesame process as psychokinesis. And we do have quite a bit of empiricaldata on psychokinesis." He scribbled something on a sheet of paper andsaid: "For instance, there's this." He held the paper up to the screenso that Malone could read it.
It said:
md ----- = K ft2
Malone looked at it for some seconds. At last he said: "It's verypretty. What is it?"
"This," Dr. O'Connor said, in the tone of voice that meant You ShouldHave Known All Along, But You're Just Hopeless, "is the basic formulafor the phenomenon, where _m_ is the mass in grams, _d_ is the distancein centimeters, _f_ is the force in dynes and _t_ is the time inseconds. _K_ is a constant whose value is not yet known."
Malone said: "Hm-m-m," and stared at the equation again. Somehow, theexplanation was not very helpful. The value of _K_ was unknown. Heunderstood that much, all right but it didn't seem to do him any good.
"As you can see," Dr. O'Connor went on, "the greater the force, and thelonger time it is applied, the greater distance any mass can be moved.Or, contrariwise, the more mass, the greater mass, that is, the easierit is to move it any given distance. This is, as you undoubtedlyunderstand, not at all in contradistinction to physical phenomena."
"Ah," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him, but notbeing quite sure what.
Dr. O'Connor frowned. "I must admit," he said, "that the uncertainty asto the constant _k_, and the lack of any real knowledge as to just whatkind of force is being applied, have held up our work so far." Then hisface smoothed out. "Of course, when we have the teleports to work with,we may derive a full set of laws which--"
"Never mind that now," Malone said.
"But our work is most important, Mr. Malone," Dr. O'Connor said with amotion of his eyebrows. "As I'm sure you must understand."
"Oh," Malone said, feeling as if he'd been caught without his homework,"of course. But if you don't mind--"
"Yes, Mr. Malone?" Dr. O'Connor said smoothly.
"What I want to know," Malone said, "is this: wh
at are the limitationsof this ... uh ... phenomenon?"
Dr. O'Connor brightened visibly. "The limitations are several," he said."In the first place, there is the force represented by _f_ in theequation. This seems to be entirely dependent on the ... ah ... strengthof the subject's personality. That is if we assume that the process isat all parallel with the phenomena of psychokinesis and levitation. Andthere are excellent theoretical reasons for so believing."
"In other words," Malone said, "a man with a strong will would be ableto exert more force than a weaker-willed man?"
"Correct," Dr. O'Connor said. "And another factor is the time, _t_. Whatwe are measuring here is the span of attention of the individual--theability of the subject's mind to concentrate on a given thing for a spanof time. Many people, for example, cannot keep their attention focusedon a single thought for more than a few milliseconds, it seems. They are... ah ... 'scatter-brained,' as the saying is."
His expression left no doubt that he included Malone in that group.Malone tried not to look nervous.
Then Dr. O'Connor scowled. "There is another factor which we feel shouldbe in the equation," he said, "but we have not yet found a precise wayto express it mathematically. You must realize that the mathematicaltreatment of psionics is, as yet, in a relatively primitive stage."
"Oh," Malone said. "Of course. Sure. But this other factor--"
"It is what might be called the ... ah ... _volume_ of attention," Dr.O'Connor said. "That is, the actual amount of space that can beconceived of and held by the subject, during the time he isconcentrating."
Malone blinked.
"For most people," Dr. O'Connor said, "the awareness of the spacesurrounding them is limited to a few inches of moving space, no more. Toput this in a purely physical matrix: one might say that the'teleportation field' doesn't extend more than a few inches beyond theskin of the subject. Thus, it would be difficult to teleport anythingreally large unless one were able to increase the volume of attention,or awareness. However, it is difficult to express this notionmathematically."
"I'll bet," Malone said.
* * * * *
Dr. O'Connor shot him a frozen glance. "One of our early attempts," hesaid, "was simply to put this in as a volume factor, so that theleft-hand side of the equation, below the line, would read--" Hescribbled again on the paper and held it up:
m d ---- = K d3ft2
"Unfortunately, as you can perhaps see," Dr. O'Connor said, "theequation would not stand up under dimensional analysis."
"Oh, sure," Malone said, adding sympathetically: "That's too bad. Butdoes that put a limit on how much a man could carry with him? I mean, hecouldn't take a whole building along, or anything like that, could he?"
"I doubt it," Dr. O'Connor said gravely. "That would require atremendous volume of space for one to focus his entire attention on, asa whole, for any useful length of time. It would require a type of mindthat I am not even sure exists."
"In the case of a young, inexperienced boy," Malone said stubbornly,"would you say that he could carry off anything heavy?"
"Of course not," Dr. O'Connor said. "Nor, as a matter of fact, could hecarry off anything that was securely bolted down; I hope you follow me?"
"I think so," Malone said. "But look here: suppose you handcuffed himto, say, a radiator or a jail cell bar."
"Yes?"
"Could he get away?"
Dr. O'Connor appeared to consider this with some care. "Well," he saidat last, "he certainly couldn't take the radiator with him, or the cellbar. If that's what you mean." He hesitated, looked slightly shamefaced,and then went on: "But you must realize that we lack any reallyextensive data on this phenomenon."
"Of course," Malone said.
"That's why I'm so very anxious to get those subjects," Dr. O'Connorsaid.
"Dr. O'Connor," Malone said earnestly, "that's just what I had in mindfrom the start. I've been going to a lot of extra trouble to make surethat those kids don't get killed or end up in reform schools orsomething, just so you could work with them."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said gravely.
Malone felt as if someone had given him a gold star. Fighting down theemotion, he went on: "I know right now that I can catch one or two ofthem. But I don't know for sure that I can hold one for more than afraction of a second."
"I see your problem," Dr. O'Connor said. "Believe me, Mr. Malone. I dosee your problem."
"And is there a way out?" Malone said. "I mean a way I can hold on tothem for--"
"At present," Dr. O'Connor said heavily, "I have no suggestions. I lackdata."
"Oh, fine," Malone said. "We need the kids to get the data, and we needthe data to get the kids." He sighed. "Hooray for our side," he added.
"There does appear to be something of a dilemma here," Dr. O'Connoradmitted sadly.
"Dilemma is putting it mildly," Malone said.
Dr. O'Connor opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again and said: "Iagree."
"Well," Malone said, "maybe one of us will think of something. Ifanything does occur to you, let me know at once."
"I certainly will," Dr. O'Connor said. "Believe me, Mr. Malone, I wantyou to capture those--kids--just as badly as you want to capture themyourself."
"I'll try," Malone said at random. He flipped off and turned with asense of relief back to Boyd. But it looked as if Henry VIII had beenhit on the head with a cow, or something equally weighty. Boyd lookedglassy-eyed and slightly stunned.
* * * * *
"What's the matter with you?" Malone said. "Sick?"
"I'm not sick," Boyd said carefully. "At least I don't think I'm sick.It's hard to tell."
"What's wrong?"
"Teleporting?" Boyd said. "Juvenile delinquents?"
Malone felt a sudden twinge in the area of his conscience. He realizedthat he had told Boyd nothing at all about what had been going on sincethe discovery of the notebook two nights ago. He filled his partner inrapidly while Boyd stood in front of the mirror and rather shakilyattempted to trim his beard.
"That's why I had the car search continue," Malone said. "I was fairlysure the fault wasn't in the cars, but the boys. But I had to makeabsolutely sure."
Boyd said: "Oh," chopped a small section out of the center of his beardand added: "My hand's shaky."
"Well," Malone said, "that's the story."
"It sure is quite a story," Boyd said. "And I don't want you to think Idon't believe it. Because I don't."
"It's true," Malone said.
"That doesn't affect me," Boyd said. "I'll go along with the gag. Butenough is enough. Vanishing teen-agers. Ridiculous."
"Just so you go along with me," Malone said.
"Oh, I'll go along," Boyd said. "This is my vacation, too, isn't it?What's the next move, Mastermind?"
"We're going down to that warehouse," Malone said decisively. "I've gota hunch the kids have been hiding there ever since they left their homesyesterday."
"Malone," Boyd said.
"What?"
"You mean we're going down to the warehouse _tonight_?" Boyd said.
Malone nodded.
"I might have known," Boyd said. "I might have known."
"Tom," Malone said. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," Boyd said. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine and dandy.I think I'm going to commit suicide, but don't let that bother you."
"What happened?" Malone said.
Boyd stared at him. "You happened," he said. "You and the teen-agers andthe warehouse happened. Three days' work--ruined."
Malone scratched his head, found out that his head still hurt and puthis hand down again. "What work?" he said.
"For three days," Boyd said, "I've been taking this blond chick all overNew York. Wining her. Dining her. Spending money as if I were Burrishimself, instead of the common or garden variety of FBI agent. Nightclubs. Theaters. Bars. The works. Malone, we were getting alongfamously. It was wonderful."
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"And tonight--" Malone said.
"Tonight," Boyd said, "was supposed to be the night. The big night. Thepayoff. We've got a date for dinner--T-bone steak, two inches thick,with mushrooms. At her apartment, Malone."
"You'll have to break it," Malone said sympathetically. "Too bad, but itcan't be helped now. You can pick up a sandwich before you go."
"A sandwich," Boyd said with great dignity, "is not my idea of somethingto eat."
"Look, Tom--" Malone began.
"All right, all right," Boyd said tiredly. "Duty is duty. I'll go callher."
"Fine," Malone said. "And meanwhile, I'll get us a little insurance."
"Insurance?"
"John Henry Fernack," Malone Malone said, "and his Safe and Loft Squad."