XV.
It is definitely not usual for the Director of the FBI to come stalkinginto a local office of that same FBI without so much as an advancewarning or a by-your-leave. Such things are simply not done.
Andrew J. Burris, however, was doing them.
Three days after the Great Warehouse Fiasco, a startled A-in-C looked upto see the familiar Burris figure stalk by his office, growling underits breath. The A-in-C leaped to the interoffice phone, wondered whom heought to call first, and subsided, staring dully at the telephone screenand thinking about retiring.
The next appearance of the head of the FBI was in the office assigned toMalone and Boyd. Burris came through the doorway without warning, hiscountenance that of a harried and unhappy man.
Malone looked up, blinked, and then readjusted his features to what heimagined was a nice, bright smile. "Oh," he said. "Hello, chief. I'vebeen sort of expecting you."
"I'll bet you have," Burris said. He set his brief case on Malone's deskand pulled a sheaf of papers from it. "Do you see these?" he said,waving them. "Inquiries. Complaints. Demands. From everybody. I've beengetting them for three days."
"Sure are a lot of them," Malone said at random.
"From Police Commissioner Fernack," Burris said. "From the mayor. Fromthe governor, in Albany. From everybody. And they all want anexplanation. They demand one."
He sat down suddenly on Malone's desk, his anger gone.
"Well--" Malone began.
"Malone," Burris said plaintively, "I can stall them off for a while. Ican tell them all kinds of fancy stories. I don't mind. They don'treally need any explanation. But--" He paused, and then added: "I do!"
Malone closed his eyes, decided things looked even worse that way, andopened them again. "Just what sort of an explanation did you have inmind, chief?" he said.
"Any kind," Burris said instantly, "so long as it explains. I ... no."
"No?"
"No," Burris said. "I want the truth! Even if it doesn't explainanything! Preferably, I want both--the truth and some explanations. Ifpossible. For three days, now, this area has been haunted by the SilentSpooks. They've been stealing everything they could carry off! They'vegot the whole city in an uproar!"
"Well," Malone said. "Not exactly. The papers--"
"I know," Burris said. "You've kept it out of the news. That's fine, andI appreciate it, Malone. I really do. But I can't sit around andappreciate it much longer. You've got to get those boys!" He bounced offthe desk and stood up again. "The longer they keep this up," he said,"the harder it's going to be to square everything with the courts. Thosekids may end up getting killed! And how would that be?"
"Terrible," Malone said honestly.
"Something," Burris summed up, "has to be done."
Malone thought for a second. "Chief," he said at last, "if you can thinkof any way to nab them, I'll certainly be grateful."
"Oh," Burris said. "Oh. No. No, Malone. This is your baby." He leanedover and clapped Malone on the shoulder. "I have faith in you," he said."You cleared up that nutty telepath case and you can clear this one up,too. But you've got to do it soon!"
"I'm working on it," Malone said helplessly. "We might get a lead anytime now."
"Good," Burris said. "Meanwhile, let's sit down and see if we can'tfigure out a way to pacify the local bigwigs."
Malone sighed wearily.
* * * * *
An hour later, he was even more tired. Letting himself into his room atthe hotel, he felt completely exhausted. He had spent most of the hourtactfully trying to get away from Burris. It had not been the world'seasiest job.
Dorothea Fueyo was sitting on the couch, waiting for him.
Immediately, he felt much better.
"You're late," Dorothea said accusingly. "I had to come up with theduplicate key you gave me. And what are the bellboys going to think?"
"They're going to think you had a duplicate key," Malone said. "Anyhow,I'm sorry. I got delayed at the office. Burris came to town--deliveringseventeen ultimatums, forty-nine conflicting sets of orders and arousing lecture."
"I could have come up to your office, then," Dorothea said, "instead ofcompromising my reputation by sneaking up to your hotel room."
"And what about _my_ reputation?" Malone said. "Besides, the office isno place for what I have in mind."
"Why, Mr. Malone!"
Malone ignored the comment. "Did you bring the notebook?" he said.
"Certainly." Dorothea handed a black, plastic-bound notebook over toMalone. "But what's all this with a notebook? Going to keep score?"
"Not exactly," Malone said. He took the notebook and leafed through itidly. It was not Mike Fueyo's book; the boy himself had that now, andthere was little chance of getting it back again. This one belonged toDorothea--but, Malone thought, it could serve the same purpose.
"What I have in mind," he said, "is something Mike said the other night,just before the cops barged in. He said something about having tried toteach you the Vanish. And that's why I asked you to come here. Did heteach you?"
"Well, he tried," Dorothea said. "But I couldn't do anything with it. Ihaven't got the Talent, Mike says." She paused. "Is that why you figuredI had a notebook like his?"
"Sure," Malone said. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Mike'snotebook was full of symbols--and that was all they could be. Symbols.If you see what I mean."
"Not exactly," Dorothea said.
"Symbolism--anyhow, that's what Dr. O'Connor says--is one of theprimary factors in psionics."
"Dr.... oh, yes," Dorothea said. "Westinghouse. I've heard about him."
"Good," Malone said. "Anyhow, I decided the pictures in Mike's notebookwere just that--symbols. Things he wanted. And the little squigglesafter the names were symbols, too. You know," Malone said, "the boy'spretty smart. Nobody else that I know of has ever figured out a way toteach psionics--at least, not on that level. But Mike has."
"He's a good boy," Dorothea said. "Basically."
"Fine," Malone said. "Anyhow, if that were true, then the notebook wassome sort of guide. And if he tried to teach you the technique, then youhad to have a notebook, too. Clear?"
"Perfectly," Dorothea said, "so what do you want me to do?"
"Teach me," Malone said.
There was a silence.
"That's silly," Dorothea said. "How can I teach you something I can't domyself? Besides, how do you know you have the Talent?"
"As far as the second question goes, I don't know. But I can try, can'tI? And as far as the first question goes, that might not be so simple.But I think it can be done--if you remember what Mike tried to teachyou."
"Oh, I can remember all of that," she said, "but it's just that itdidn't do me any good. I couldn't use it."
"A man who's paralyzed from the waist," Malone said hopefully, "can'tplay football. But if he knows how the game's played, he can teachothers--anyhow, he can teach the fundamentals. Want to try?"
Dorothea smiled. "All right, Ken," she said. "It's a great idea, atthat: the blind teaching the possibly-blind to read. Give me thenotebook, and I'll explain the first principles. Later, you'll have toget a notebook of your own, because these symbols are verypersonalized."
Malone grinned and pulled a black book from his pocket. "I thought theymight be," he said. "I've already got one. Let's go."
* * * * *
Sweating, Malone stared grimly at the picture he had drawn on a page ofhis notebook. He'd been trying the stunt for four days, and so far allhe had achieved was a nice profusion of perspiration. He was beginningto feel like an ad for a Turkish bath.
"No, Ken," Dorothea said patiently. "No. You can't do it that way.You've got to _visualize_ it. That's how Mike could find red Cadillacsso easily. All he had to do was--"
"I know," Malone said, impatiently. "That's what the pictures are for.But I'm no artist. This doesn't even look much _like_ my office."
"It doesn't have t
o, Ken," Dorothea said. "All it has to do is give youenough details to enable you to visualize your destination. The betteryour memory is, the less detail you need. But you've got to grasp thewhole area in your mind."
Malone lifted his eyes from the book and stared into the darknessoutside the window without seeing it. Midnight had come and gone a longtime ago, and he was still working.
"If I don't crack this case pretty soon," he muttered, "Burris is goingto find a special new assignment for me--like investigating the sociallife of a deserted space station."
"Now, that's just what's bothering you," Dorothea said. "Get your mindoff Burris. You can't teleport when your mind is occupied with otherthings."
"Then how did the kids hop around so much during the fight at thewarehouse?"
"Plenty of practice," Dorothea said. "They've been doing it longer thanyou have. It's like playing the piano. The beginner has to concentrate,but the expert can play a piece he's familiar with and hold aconversation at the same time. Now stop worrying--and startconcentrating."
Malone looked at the book again. With an effort, he forced everythingout of his mind except the picture. Burris' face came back once ortwice, but he managed to get rid of it. He looked at the lopsideddrawings that represented various items in the room, and made himselfconcentrate solely on visualizing the objects themselves and theirsurroundings.
Then, as the picture became clearer and achieved more reality, he begangoing over the other mental exercises that Dorothea had taught him.
He heard a clock tick.
It was gone.
There was nothing but the picture, and the room it stood for ... nothing... nothing....
The lights went out.
* * * * *
Malone blinked and jerked his head up from the notebook. "What hap--" hebegan.
And then he stopped.
He was no longer in his hotel room at the Statler-Hilton. He wasstanding in the middle of his office at FBI headquarters, Washington,D.C.
It had worked!
Malone walked over to the wall switch and turned on the lights in thedarkened room. He looked around. He was definitely in his office.
He was a teleport.
He blinked and wondered briefly if he were dreaming. He pinched himself,said: "Ow," and decided that the pain offered no certain proof.
But he didn't feel like part of a dream.
He felt real. So did the office.
Just as he had promised Dorothea, he went to the phone and dialed theStatler-Hilton.
It took a minute for the long-distance circuits to connect him withManhattan. Then the pretty operator at the hotel was smiling at him fromthe screen. "Statler-Hilton Hotel," she said. "May we help you?"
"Ring Room 814," Malone said. "I'm probably asleep in it."
"What?" the operator said.
"Never mind," Malone said. "Just ring it."
"Yes, sir." The screen went blank.
The screen stayed blank for a long time.
And then the operator was back. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "That roomdoesn't answer."
"You're sure?" Malone said.
"Certainly."
"Try it again," Malone said.
The operator did so. She returned with the same answer.
Malone frowned and hung up. It didn't sound right. Even a dream wassupposed to make more sense than this was making. There was somethingwrong.
He had to get back to the hotel room.
There was only one trouble. He didn't have a picture of the room in hisnotebook.
Dorothea had said that it was almost impossible to go to a place onehadn't been to before. Mike Fueyo had been able to pick up any redCadillac in the city because he'd concentrated solely on the symbol of ared Cadillac. But he never knew which Cadillac he'd end up at.
Malone closed his eyes and tried to remember the hotel room. Hehalf-wished he had a photograph of it, but Dorothea had told him thatphotos wouldn't work. They were too complete; they required no effort ofthe mind. Only a symbol would do.
Of course, the job could be done without a symbol by somebody who'd hadplenty of practice. But Malone had made exactly one jump. Could he doit the second time with nothing to work with except his own recollectionand visualization of the room?
He didn't know, but he was certainly going to try. He had to.
Something was wrong; something had happened to Dorothea.
He tried to imagine what it could be, and then realized that suchthoughts were only delaying him by distracting his mind from its mainjob.
He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to form the picture in hismind. The couch--there. The dresser--over there. The easy-chair, therug, the walls, the table--wait a minute: he was losing the couch.There. Now. The table, the desk--all there. In color. And in detail.
Slowly they came, and he held them in place, visualizing his hotel roomjust as he had visualized his office minutes before. He concentrated.Harder. Harder. _Harder._ HAR--
"Sir Kenneth!" a voice said. "Will you please stop standing there withyour eyes closed and help me with this poor child? She's fainted."
Malone's eyes popped open, but for a minute he wasn't entirely sure he'dopened them. His visualization blended almost perfectly with the realityof the room around him. There was only one jarring difference.
He had certainly never visualized the richly-dressed figure of QueenElizabeth I standing in the center of the room.
"Now, now," she said. "Thinking like that can only lead to confusion.Come over here and help me."
* * * * *
Dorothea was on the couch. Between them, they managed to wake hergently, and she sat up and stared around at them and the room. "I'msorry," she said dazedly. "It's just that I didn't expect you to turninto a little old lady in Elizabethan costume. Just a bitdisconcerting." She blinked. "By the way, who is she?"
"This," Malone said with a sense of some foreboding, "is Queen ElizabethI."
"She's dead," Dorothea said decisively.
"Not really, my dear," the Queen said. "Actually, you see ... well, it'stoo long to explain now." She gave everybody a bland smile.
"She's nuts, then," Dorothea said. "She is nuts, isn't she? Because ifshe isn't, I am."
"You're not crazy," Malone told her diplomatically. "But she--" Hestopped. How could he explain everything, in front of the Queen herself?
"Don't worry about it," Her Majesty said. "Dorothea is a littleconfused--but it hardly matters. Perhaps there are other things to do."
"Sure," Malone said uncertainly. "By the way, how did you get here?"
"Now, why do you ask that?" the Queen said. "You've already figured itall out, Sir Kenneth."
"I don't get it," Dorothea put in.
"Simple," Malone said. "She's telepathic. She's been listening in on oursessions for the past four days--she must have been. So now she canteleport, too."
Dorothea looked at the little old lady in awe. "But how could you cometo a place you'd never been to before?"
"I got all the information I needed, my dear, out of Sir Kenneth'smind."
"Sir Kenneth?" Dorothea said. "Sir ... Ken? His mind?"
"Never mind it," Malone said. "What do I do now?"
Her Majesty said: "Don't worry about anything. And use your own psionictalents. You can catch those dear boys now, you know. You're better thanthey are."
"Me?" Malone said. "But they've had--"
"Practice, of course," the Queen said. "But you have a talent theydon't."
"I do?"
"Well," the Queen said, "you've been calling it 'luck' for years. You'remuch too modest, Sir Kenneth. If you'll think back, you'll remember thatevery time you had a bit of your so-called luck, it was because you wereat the right place at the right time. There's no other way to explainthe fact that you wandered at random through Greenwich Village--of allplaces!--and just happened to end up at the very same red Cadillac thatyoung Mike was going to come to--_before he got
there_!"
Malone felt the back of his head. "That," he said, "was luck?"
"You got the notebook, didn't you?" the Queen said. "But of course itwasn't luck. It's prescience--the ability to predict the future. You'vehad it all along, but you haven't been consciously using it. The onlyway you'll ever catch those boys is to know where they're going to bebefore they get there."
Malone sat down heavily on the couch next to Dorothea. His mind waswhirling with a fine, dizzy rapidity. In a few seconds he was going totry and grab the brass ring.
"Oh, I'll help you," the Queen added. "Don't worry about that. I think Ican pick up Mike's mind, now that I'm closer to him. And if we canfigure out what their plans are, and where they're going to be, we cannab them all, Sir Kenneth. Won't that be nice?"
"Ducky," Malone said. "Simply ducky. All I have to do is predict thefuture while you read minds and we both teleport. And Dorothea can sitaround sticking pins in dolls, I guess. Or--"
"Well, now," the Queen said, "I don't know. Perhaps she just doesn'thave that talent. Besides, why would we want to do anything like that?It seems to me--"
"Never mind," Malone said hopelessly. "If we're going to do anything,let's get started."
* * * * *
Twelve hours later, Kenneth J. Malone was sitting quietly in a smallroom at the rear of a sporting-goods store on upper Madison Avenue,trying to remain calm and hoping that the finest, most beautiful andcomplete hunch--only now it wasn't a "hunch" any more, he remindedhimself; now it was prescience--was going to pay off. With him were Boydand two agents from the Sixty-ninth Street office. They were sittingquietly, too, but there was a sense of enormous excitement in the air.Malone wanted to get up and walk around, but he didn't dare. He clampedhis hands in his lap and sat tight.
They waited in silence, not daring to talk. There wasn't a sound in theroom. Malone felt like screaming, but he managed to control himself withan effort.
There was no reason why the plan shouldn't work, Malone told himself.According to all the theory he knew, it was fool proof. Her Majesty hadno doubts about it, either. She assured him that he had prescience, andseveral other powers as well. Unfortunately, Malone wasn't quite as sureas she was.
Even if the theory seemed to back her up, he thought, there was still achance that she was wrong, and the theory was wrong, and everything waswrong. His hunch--prescience, if you wanted to call it that, heamended--said definitely that this would be the place the Spooks wouldhit tonight. Her Majesty was quite sure of it. And Malone couldn't thinkof a single really good reason why either of them might be wrong. Butmaybe he'd got the address mixed up. Maybe the Spooks were somewhereelse right now, robbing what they pleased, safe from capture--
It doesn't do much good to know where a teleporter _is_, Malone thought.But it's extremely handy to know where he's going to be. And if you alsoknow what he plans to do when he gets where he's going, you've got anabsolute lead-pipe cinch to work with.
The Queen and Malone had provided that lead-pipe cinch. They were surethat Mike planned to raid the sporting-goods store with the rest of theSpooks that night.
But, of course, they might all just be riding for some kind of horrible,unforeseen fall--
The main part of the sporting-goods store was fairly well lit, even atnight, though it was by no means brightly illuminated. There wereshow-window lights on, and the street lamp from outside cast a niceglow. Malone was grateful for that. But the back room was dark, and thefour men there were well-concealed. A curtain closed the room off, andMalone watched the front of the store through a narrow opening in it. Hestared until his eyes ached, afraid to blink in case he missed theappearance of the Spooks. Everything had to go off just right, preciselyon schedule.
And it was going to happen any minute, he told himself nervously. Injust a few minutes, everything would be over.
Malone held his breath.
Then he saw the figure walk slowly by the glass front of the shop,looking in with over-elaborate casualness. He was casing the joint,making sure there was no one left in it.
Mike Fueyo.
Malone tried to breathe, and couldn't.
Seconds ticked by.
And then--almost magically--they appeared. Eight of them, almostsimultaneously, in the center of the room.
Mike Fueyo spoke in a low, controlled voice. "O.K., now," he said."Let's move fast. We haven't got much time. We--"
And that was all he said.
Malone concentrated on just one thing: holding an image of the room,with the eight Spooks in it.
There was a long second of silence.
Malone felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. He held the image.
"What's wrong?" the tallest boy said suddenly--Ramon Otravez, Maloneremembered. "What's wrong, Mike?"
Mike let out his breath in a ragged sigh. "I ... don't know," he saidslowly. "I can't move--"
"It's a trap!" another boy shouted.
Malone bore down. He could feel power draining out of him, but he heldon, willing the boys to remain in the room, blanking out their ownteleportative abilities with his stronger ones.
The eight boys stood, frozen, in the center of the lit room.
Malone let another second go by, and then he stepped out from behind thecurtains.
"Hello, boys," he said casually.
Mike stared at him. "It's Malone," he said.
"That's right," Malone said. "Hello, Mike. I've been waiting for you."
Mike gulped. "You found us," he said. "Somebody talked."
Malone shook his head. "Nobody talked," he said. Concentration wasgetting easier; the longer the situation remained the same, the lesspower it took to keep it that way. He wished he had brought a cigar, andcompromised by fishing out a cigarette and lighting it.
Mike said: "But--" and was silent.
"I knew where you were going to be," Malone said. "You see, I've got afew--powers of my own, Mike."
Ramon Otravez said: "He's kidding. It's some kind of a trick."
"Shut up," Mike told him.
"It's no trick," Malone said. "I've been waiting for you for quite awhile, boys." He paused. "And you can't move, can you? I've taken careof that."
"Some kind of gas," Mike said instantly.
"Gas?" Malone said. "Nope." He shook his head.
"Electricity," Mike said. It sounded desperate. "Some gimmick you've gotset up back there behind the curtain, to--"
"No gimmick," Malone said. "It's just that I know a couple of tricks,too--and I'm a little better at them than you are." The next minute wasgoing to be difficult, he knew, but it had to be done. He "froze" thepicture of the room in his mind and, at the same time, pictured himselfat the other side of the room. He made the effort, and at first nothinghappened. Then--
"You can do the Vanish," Mike said, very slowly and softly.
"Oh, I can do more than that," Malone said cheerfully from the otherside of the room. "I can do the Vanish, and I can also keep you fromdoing it. Right?"
It hung in the balance for a second, but Malone was barely worried aboutthe final outcome. He'd beaten the boys, not with scientific gadgetry ortrickery, but at their own game. He'd done it simply, easily andcompletely. And for boys who were sure they were something very special,boys who'd never been beaten on their own grounds before, the shock wasconsiderable.
Malone knew, even before Mike said: "I guess so," in a defeated voice,that he had won.
"Now," he said briskly, "you boys are going to come down to the FBIoffices with me. And you're not going to try any tricks--because youcan't get away with a thing, and you know you can't. I've just proventhat to you."
"I guess you have," Mike said.
Malone beckoned the three other men out of the back room and then, underhis watchful guidance, the procession started for the street.
XVI
"The only thing we had to worry about," Malone said, pouring some morechampagne into the hollow-stemmed glasses, "was whether the theory would
actually prove out in practice. From all we knew, it seemed logical thatI could concentrate on the room with the boys in it, and by thatconcentration prevent them from teleporting out--but there's a lot wedon't know, too. And it didn't damage the kids any."
Dorothea relaxed in her chair and looked around at the hotel room wallswith contentment. "Mike seemed pretty normal--except that he had thatawful _trapped_ feeling."
Malone handed her one of the filled glasses with an air. He wasbeginning slowly to feel less like the nervous, uncertain Kenneth J.Malone and more and more like good old Sir Kenneth Malone. "I can seewhy he felt trapped," he said. "If a guy's been unhampered by four wallsall the time, even for only a year or so, he's certainly going to feelpenned in when he's stopped from going through them. Especially whenwhat stops him is just what he has--only more of the same. It might be alittle ego-crushing, and just a trifle claustrophobic."
"The main thing is," Dorothea said, "that everybody's so happy.Commissioner Fernack, even--with Mr. Burris promising to give him amedal."
"And Lynch," Malone said reflectively. "He'll get a promotion out ofthis for sure. And good old Kettleman."
"Kettleman," Dorothea said. "Oh, sure. He's some kind of social worker,isn't he? Only we never knew what kind."
"And now he's getting a scroll from the FBI," Malone said. "A citationfor coming up with the essential clue in this case. Even though hedidn't know it _was_ the essential clue. You know," he addedreflectively, "one thing puzzles me about that man."
"Yes?"
"Well," Malone said, "he worked in your neighborhood. You knew him."
"Of course I did," Dorothea said. "We all knew Kettleman."
"He said he had a lot of success as a social worker," Malone said. "Now,I've met him. And talked with him. And I just can't picture--"
"Oh," Dorothea said. "We keep him around--kept him around, I mean--as asort of joke. A pet, or a mascot. Of course, he never did catch on. Idon't suppose he has yet."
Malone laughed. "Nope," he said. "He hasn't."
* * * * *
"Mike," Dorothea said.
"Mike what?"
"Mike," she repeated. "He's probably the happiest of all. After Mom andI talked to him for a while, anyhow, and he began to ... to get used tothings. Now he's excited about being an FBI man." She looked worriedlyat Malone for a second. "You weren't kidding about that, were you?" sheasked.
She looked very pretty when she was worried, Malone decided. He leanedover and kissed her with great care. After a while he said: "You weresaying?"
"Was I?" Dorothea said. "Oh, yes. I was. About Mike being an FBI man."
"Oh," Malone said. "Well, normally you've got to be a lawyer or anaccountant, but there are a few special cases. And maybe Mike would fitin to the special-case bracket. If he doesn't--well, he'll be doing somekind of official work for the Government."
"What about Her Majesty, or whatever she is?" Dorothea asked. "Isshe--convinced that teleportation's no good, the way Mike is?"
Malone looked unhappy. "I wish you hadn't mentioned it," he said.
"Then what will you do?" Dorothea said.
"Burris has it all down pat," Malone said bitterly. "Since I'm the onlyone who can predict where she's going to be, I'm going to be herpermanent bodyguard from now on. She's promised me that she won't goteleporting all over the place--but we won't be able to keep her lockedup all the time, either. So: whither she goes, I go--first."
"Well," Dorothea said, "don't feel bad. After all, you did what you setout to do."
"I suppose so," Malone said.
"Sure you did," Dorothea said. "You got the boys. And they won't feelso bad after they get used to it."
"I suppose not," Malone said. "We had to prove one thing to them,anyway. We can stop them at any time. You see, they've got to thinkabout teleporting, and as soon as they do that one of ourtelepaths--like Her Majesty or me, I guess--will know what they'rethinking. And we can 'freeze' them. I mean, I can."
"It sounds all right," Dorothea said.
"Sure," Malone said. "After all, we did them quite a favor--getting themout of all the trouble they'd gotten themselves into."
"That reminds me, Ken," Dorothea said. "All the things that were stolen.The liquor and all of that. Money. What's going to happen to that?"
"Well," Malone said, "everything that can be returned--and that includesmost of the liquor, because they hadn't had a chance to get rid of it tothe bootleggers around this area--will be returned. What can't bereturned--money, stuff they've used, broken or sold--well, I don'texactly know about that. It might take a special act of Congress," hesaid brightly.
"All for the boys?" Dorothea said.
"Well, they'll be at Yucca Flats," Malone said, "and they'll be prettyuseful. And, as I said before we started all this, if they try to runaway from Yucca Flats we'll just have to keep them 'frozen' all thetime. I mean, I will. Little as we want to. They can be of some use thatway, too. The Government isn't doing all this for nothing."
"But keeping them 'frozen'--"
"I said we didn't want to do it. And I don't think we'll have to.They'll be well taken care of, don't worry. Some of the bestpsychiatrists and doctors are out there. And Mike and the others--ifthey can show they're trustworthy--can come home every weekend, or evenevery night if they can teleport that far." Malone paused. "But it isn'tcharity," he added. "We need people with specialized psionicabilities--and, for a variety of reasons, they're pretty hard to find."
"You know," Dorothea said, "you're pretty wonderful, Mr. Malone."
Malone didn't answer her. He just kissed her again.
Dorothea pushed him gently away. "I'm envious," she announced."Everybody gets a reward but me. Do I get left out just because I swipedyour notebook?"
Malone kissed her again. "What kind of a reward do you want?"
She sighed. "Oh, well," she said, "I suppose this is good enough."
"Good enough?" Malone said. "Just good enough?"
His lips met hers for the fifth time. She reached one hand gently out tothe light switch and pushed it.
The lights went out.
THE END
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