The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

to that?"

      "Well," Malone said, "everything that can be returned—and that includes most of the liquor, because they hadn't had a chance to get rid of it to the bootleggers around this area—will be returned. What can't be returned—money, stuff they've used, broken or sold—well, I don't exactly know about that. It might take a special act of Congress," he said brightly.

      "All for the boys?" Dorothea said.

      "Well, they'll be at Yucca Flats," Malone said, "and they'll be pretty useful. And, as I said before we started all this, if they try to run away from Yucca Flats we'll just have to keep them 'frozen' all the time. I mean, I will. Little as we want to. They can be of some use that way, 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 best psychiatrists and doctors are out there. And Mike and the others—if they can show they're trustworthy—can come home every weekend, or even every night if they can teleport that far." Malone paused. "But it isn't charity," he added. "We need people with specialized psionic abilities—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 swiped your 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 to the light switch and pushed it.

      The lights went out.

THE END

      Supermind

       Table of Contents

      Supermind

       Table of Contents

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

      Chapter 1

       Table of Contents

      In 1914, it was enemy aliens.

      In 1930, it was Wobblies.

      In 1957, it was fellow travelers.

      In 1971, it was insane telepaths.

      And, in 1973:

      "We don't know what the hell it is," said Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI. He threw his hands in the air and looked baffled and confused.

      Kenneth J. Malone tried to appear sympathetic. "What what is?" he asked.

      Burris frowned and drummed his fingers on his big desk. "Malone," he said, "make sense. And don't stutter."

      "Stutter?" Malone said. "You said you didn't know what it was. What the hell it was. And I wanted to know what it was."

      "That's just it," Burris said. "I don't know."

      Malone sighed and repressed an impulse to scream. "Now wait a minute, Chief--" he started.

      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. "Well, after all, Chief--"

      "Don't call me Chief," Burris said wearily.

      "Anything you say," Malone agreed peacefully. He eyed the Director of the FBI warily. "After all, it isn't anything new," he went on. "The country's always been going to hell in a handbasket, one way or another. Look at Rome."

      "Rome?" Burris said.

      "Sure," Malone said. "Rome was always going to hell in a handbasket, and finally it--" He paused. "Finally it did, I guess," he said.

      "Exactly," Burris said. "And so are we. Finally." He passed a hand over his forehead and stared past Malone at a spot on the wall. Malone turned and looked at the spot, but saw nothing of interest. "Malone," Burris said, and the FBI agent whirled around again.

      "Yes, Ch--Yes?" he said.

      "This time," Burris said, "it isn't the same old story at all. This time it's different."

      "Different?" Malone said.

      Burris nodded. "Look at it this way," he said. His eyes returned to the agent. "Suppose you're a congressman," he went on, "and you find evidence of inefficiency in the government."

      "All right," Malone said agreeably. He had the feeling that if he waited around a little while everything would make sense, and he was willing to wait. After all, he wasn't on assignment at the moment, and there was nothing pressing waiting for him. He was even between romances.

      If he waited long enough, he told himself, Andrew J. Burris might say something worth hearing. He looked attentive and eager. He considered leaning over the desk a little, to look even more eager, but decided against