The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

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 corner grocery: 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 me about," O'Connor said. "Am I to understand that you have actually found a teleport?"

      "Unless my theories are away off," Malone said, "I've done a lot better than that. I've found eight of them."

      "Eight!" Dr. O'Connor's smile grew perceptibly warmed. It now stood at about 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 feel quite so much like a first-year law student talking to an egomaniacal professor.

      "When can you deliver them?" O'Connor said.

      "Well," Malone said carefully, "that depends." O'Connor seemed to view the teleports as pieces of equipment, he thought. "I can't deliver them until 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 of understanding anything that was going to keep him and the eight teleports apart for even thirty seconds longer, now that he knew about them.

      "You see," Malone said, "they're kids. Juvenile delinquents, or something 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 the information I can get."

      Dr. O'Connor nodded slowly. "I'll be happy," he said, "to give you any information I can provide."

      Malone took a deep breath, and plunged. "How does this teleportation bit work, 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 he wanted to make this admission. "However," he went on, brightening, "there is some evidence which seems to show that it is basically the same process as psychokinesis. And we do have quite a bit of empirical data on psychokinesis." He scribbled something on a sheet of paper and said: "For instance, there's this." He held the paper up to the screen so that Malone could read it.

      It said:

md	=	K
ft2

      Malone looked at it for some seconds. At last he said: "It's very pretty. What is it?"

      "This," Dr. O'Connor said, in the tone of voice that meant You Should Have Known All Along, But You're Just Hopeless, "is the basic formula for the phenomenon, where m is the mass in grams, d is the distance in centimeters, f is the force in dynes and t is the time in seconds. K is a constant whose value is not yet known."

      Malone said: "Hm-m-m," and stared at the equation again. Somehow, the explanation was not very helpful. The value of K was unknown. He understood 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 the longer time it is applied, the greater distance any mass can be moved. Or, contrariwise, the more mass, the greater mass, that is, the easier it is to move it any given distance. This is, as you undoubtedly understand, not at all in contradistinction to physical phenomena."

      "Ah," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him, but not being quite sure what.

      Dr. O'Connor frowned. "I must admit," he said, "that the uncertainty as to the constant k, and the lack of any real knowledge as to just what kind of force is being applied, have held up our work so far." Then his face 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 a motion 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: what are the limitations of 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 the equation. This seems to be entirely dependent on the ... ah ... strength of the subject's personality. That is if we assume that the process is at all parallel with the phenomena of psychokinesis and levitation. And there are excellent theoretical reasons for so believing."

      "In other words," Malone said, "a man with a strong will would be able to exert more force than a weaker-willed man?"

      "Correct," Dr. O'Connor said. "And another factor is the time, t. What we are measuring here is the span of attention of the individual—the ability of the subject's mind to concentrate on a given thing for a span of time. Many people, for example, cannot keep their attention focused on 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 should be in the equation," he said, "but we have not yet found a precise way to express it mathematically. You must realize that the mathematical treatment 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 be conceived of and held by the subject, during the time he is concentrating."

      Malone blinked.

      "For most people," Dr. O'Connor said, "the awareness of the space surrounding them is limited to a few inches of moving space, no more. To put this in a purely physical matrix: one might say that the 'teleportation field' doesn't extend more than a few inches beyond the skin of the subject. Thus, it would be difficult to teleport anything really large unless one were able to increase the volume of attention, or awareness. However, it is difficult to express this notion mathematically."

      "I'll bet," Malone said.

      Dr. O'Connor shot him a frozen glance. "One of our early attempts," he said, "was simply to put this in as a volume factor, so that the left-hand side of the equation, below the line, would read—" He scribbled again on the paper and held it up:

md	=	K
d3ft2

      "Unfortunately, as you can perhaps see," Dr. O'Connor said, "the equation would not stand up under dimensional analysis."

      "Oh, sure," Malone said, adding sympathetically: "That's too bad. But does that put a limit on how much a man could carry with him? I mean, he couldn't take a whole building along, or anything like that, could he?"

      "I doubt it," Dr. O'Connor said gravely. "That would require a tremendous volume of space for one to focus his entire attention on, as a whole, for any useful length of time. It would require a type of mind that 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 he carry off anything that was securely bolted down; I hope you