Randall Garrett

“ Malone said. “Now, about these murders—”
“Was no murder, not by me,” Brubitsch said firmly. “Was never any killing of anybody, not even by accident.”
“But your two friends say—” Boyd began.
“My two friends are not my friends,” Brubitsch said firmly. “If they tell you about murder and say it was me, they are no friends. I did not murder anybody, I have alibi. I did not even murder anybody a little bit. They are no friends. This is terrible.”
“There,” Malone said reflectively, “I agree with you. It’s positively awful. And I think we might as well give it up. ”

“ Malone said.
Burris nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “Your plane leaves from the airport in an hour. You’d better go and talk to Her Majesty first.”
“Right,” Malone said.
“And I hope you know what you’re doing,” Burris said.
So do I, Malone thought privately. Aloud, he said, “I just want to get the feel of things over there, that’s all, sir. I won’t cause any more trouble than an ordinary tourist.”
“Malone,” Burris said, “don’t be an ordinary tourist. They’re empty-headed morons and they do make trouble. Be an invisible tourist. Be nice to everybody. Be polite and kind. ”

“ Burris frowned again. “Don’t call me Chief,” he said.
Malone nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But if you don’t know what it is, you must have some idea of what you don’t know. I mean, is it larger than a breadbox? Does it perform helpful tasks? Is it self-employed?”
“Malone,” Burris sighed, “you ought to be on television.”
“But—”
“Let me explain,” Burris said. His voice was calmer now, and he spoke as if he were enunciating nothing but the most obvious and eternal truths. “The country,” he said, “is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Malone nodded again. ”

“ Petkoff added.
“Certainly,” Malone said, as if caviar were the most common thing in the world in his usual Washington saloons.
It wasn’t long before the waiter reappeared, bringing four glasses and three bottles of vodka chilled in an ice-bucket, like a bouquet of champagne. Petkoff bowed him out after one bottle had been opened, set the glasses up and began to pour.
“Oh, goodness,” Her Majesty started to say.
“None for me, thanks,” Lou chimed in.
“Oh, yes,” Her Majesty said. “I don’t think I’ll have any either. An old lady has to be very careful of her system, you know.” ”

“ Burris said. “You see? The FBI’s a full-time job. It’s got to be efficient.”
“Of course,” Sir Lewis said soothingly.
“Anyhow,” Malone said, “Sir Lewis is right. While every other branch of the government was having its troubles with the Great Confusion, the FBI was ticking along like a transistorized computer.”
“A good start,” Sir Lewis said.
“Darn good,” Burris said. “Malone, I knew I could depend on you. You’re a good man.” ”

“ The Mongol shifted again to block Malone’s forward progress.
“What seems to be such great hurry, Tovarishch?” he said in a voice that sounded like an earthquake warning. “Have you no culture? Why you run across floor in such impolite manner?”
The man might have been blocking his way because of Lou, or might simply want to teach an uncultured Amerikanski a lesson. Malone couldn’t tell which, and it didn’t seem to matter. He whirled and reached for a glass of vodka standing momentarily unattended on a nearby table. ”

“ He tried to figure out whether Her Majesty had already carried Lou off that way—but he doubted it. Lou was quite a burden for the old woman. And besides, he wasn’t at all sure whether it was possible to teleport a human being. A lump of inanimate matter is one thing; an intelligent woman with a mind of her own is definitely something else.
It seemed to take forever for him to reach the door, and he was panting heavily when he reached for it. Suddenly, another hand shot in front of his, turning the doorknob. Malone looked up. ”

“ You see, Sir Kenneth, you’re the only one I can pick up at a distance who has been having these flashes. But now that I’m here in Washington, I can feel it going on all around me.”
“It may not have anything to do with everything else,” Boyd said.
Malone shook his head. “If it doesn’t,” he said, “it’s the weirdest coincidence I’ve ever even dreamed about, and my dreams can be pretty strange. No, it’s got to be tied in. There’s some kind of mental static that is somehow making all these people goof up.”
“But why?” Boyd said. “What is it being done for? Just fun?”
“God only knows,” Malone said. ”

“ Malone said.
Manelli regarded him with a pitying glance. “You must be new on your job, Mr. Malone,” he said. “Because there is an entire system built up, and you don’t know about it. The way things work, we sit around and we don’t see people. And then somebody comes and presents his credentials, you might say—search warrants, for instance, or subpoenas. And then we know where we are.”
Malone shook his head. “This isn’t that kind of call,” he said. “It’s more a friendly type of call.”
“Mr. Malone,” Manelli said. The reproach was stronger in his voice. “You must be very new at your job.” ”

“ Behind the gun was a hard-eyed air force colonel with a grim expression.
“You know,” Malone said pleasantly, “they’re good guns, but they really can’t compare to the .44 Magnum.”
The pilot blinked, and his gun wavered just a little. “What?” he said.
“Well,” Malone said, “if you’d only join the FBI, like me, you’d have a .44 Magnum, and you could compare the guns.”
The pilot blinked again. “You’re—”
“Malone,” Malone said. “Kenneth J. Malone, FBI. My friends call me Snookums, but don’t try it. Why not let’s put the gun away and be friends?” ”

“ Sir Lewis said, without a trace of irony, “they certainly are.”
Talk like this passed away nearly a half-hour, until Malone finally felt that it was the right time to introduce some of his real questions. “Tell me, Sir Lewis,” he said. “Have you had many instances of a single man, or a small group of men, controlling the actions of a much larger group? And doing it in such a way that the larger group doesn’t even know it is being manipulated?”
“Of course I have,” Sir Lewis said. “And so have you. They call it advertising.”
Malone flicked his cigarette into an ashtray. ”

“ Lou’s voice said helpfully. “And what is it all about?”
Malone settled back in the driver’s seat as the car continued to spin along the road. It seems to me, he thought carefully, that any telepath has to go one of two ways. Either, like Her Majesty or the others we found when we discovered her two years ago, the telepath ends up insane—or perhaps commits suicide, which is simply one step further in retreat—or else he learns to understand and control his own powers, and to understand other human beings so well that, if he actually did control the world, everyone would benefit in the long run. ”

“ The scientist had been right, of course, Malone knew. There was no other scientist who knew as much about psionics as O’Connor, and if O’Connor said there were no books, then that was that: there were no books. ”

“ Petkoff whirled, letting go of Malone in order to beat back this wave of maddened attackers, and Malone took the advantage. He ducked free under Petkoff’s left arm and started around the gesticulating, screaming, fighting group for the door at the back of the restaurant. He took exactly four steps.
Then he stopped. The Mongol, his eyes red with a combination of vodka and bull-roaring rage, was charging toward him, his hands outflung and his fingers grasping at the air. “Warmonger!” he was shouting. “Capitalist slave-owner! Leprous and ancient cannibal without culture! ”

“ Malone said.
“Two years ago, you had the answer to that one,” Burris said. “Dr. O’Connor’s machine. Remember why it did detect when a person’s mind was being read?”
“Oh,” Malone said. “Oh, sure. He said that any human being would know, subconsciously, whether his mind was being read.”
“He did, indeed,” Burris said. “And then we came to the fourth step: to put you in rapport with some psionicist who could teach you how to control the shield, how to raise and lower it, you might say. To learn to accept other thoughts, as well as reject them. To learn to accept your full telepathic talent. ”

“ But whoever heard of a scientist falling in love with a guinea pig? It was fate. And fate was awful. Malone had often suspected it, but now he was sure. Now he saw things from the guinea pig’s side, and fate was terrible.
“But Ken,” the experimenter said. “It isn’t like that at all.”
“It is, too,” Malone said. “It’s even worse, but that’ll have to wait. When I have some more to drink it will get worse. Watch and see.”
“But Ken—” Lou hesitated, and then went on. “Don’t feel sad about being an experiment. We’re all experiments.”
“I’m the guinea pig,” Malone said. “I’m the only guinea pig. ”