A Spaceship Named: 45 Sci-Fi Novels & Stories in One Volume. Randall Garrett

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."

      Malone swallowed hard. "Well, anyway," he said after a pause, "when I saw that I began to remember a few other things. Starting with a couple of years ago, when we first found Her Majesty, remember?"

      "I'll never forget it," Burris said fervently. "She knighted me. Knight Commander of the Queen's Own FBI. What a moment."

      "Thrilling," Malone said. "But you got to Yucca Flats for your knighting awfully quickly, a little too fast even for a modern plane."

      "It had to be done," Burris said. "Anyhow, I've never really liked planes. Basically unsafe. People crash in them."

      "But you wouldn't," Malone said. "You could always teleport yourself out."

      "Sure," Burris said. "But that's troublesome. Why bother? Anyhow, I'd been to Yucca Flats before, so I could teleport there--a little way down the road, where I could meet my car--without any trouble."

      "Anyhow, that was one thing," Malone said. "And then there was Her Majesty, when she pointed at that visiphone screen and accused you of being the telepathic spy. Remember?"

      "She wasn't pointing at me," Burris said. "She was pointing at the man in the next room. How about you doing some remembering?"

      "Sure she was," Malone said. "But it was just a little coincidence. And I have a hunch she felt, subconsciously, that there was something not quite right about you."

      "Maybe," Burris conceded. "But that doesn't answer my question."

      "It doesn't?" Malone said.

      "Now look, Malone," Burris said. "None of this is proof. Not real proof. Not the kind the FBI has trained you to look for."

      "But--"

      "What I want to know," Burris said, "is why you came here, to my home? And in spite of everything you've said, that hasn't been tied down."

      Malone frowned. After a second's thought he said, "Well... All I know is that it just seemed obvious. That's all."

      "Indeed it is," Sir Lewis said. "But one of the things we'll have to teach you, my boy, is how to distinguish between a deduction from observed fact and a psionic intuition. You've been confusing them for some years now."

      "I have?" Malone said.

      "Sure you have," Burris said. "And, what's more--"

      "Well, he's no worse than you are, Andrew," Lou said.

      Burris turned. "Me?" he said in a voice of withering scorn.

      "Certainly," Lou said. "After all, you've never really become used to mixtures of thought and speech. And, what's more, you've been using telepathy so long that when you try to communicate with nothing but words you only confuse yourself."

      "And everybody else," Sir Lewis added.

      "Hmpf," Burris said. "I'm busy all the time. I haven't got any extra time for practice."

      Malone nodded, comparatively unsurprised. He'd wondered for years how a man so obviously unable to express himself clearly could run an organization like the FBI as well as he did. Having psionic abilities evidently led to drawbacks as well as advantages.

      "Actually," he said, "my prescience made one mistake."

      "Really?" Burris said, looking both worried and pleased about it.

      "I expected the place to be full of people," Malone said. "I thought the elite corps of the PRS would be here."

      "Oh," Burris said, looking crestfallen.

      "Why, that was no mistake," Sir Lewis said. "As a matter of fact, they are all here. But they're quite busy at the moment; things are coning to a head, you know, and they must work quite undisturbed."

      "And this," Burris added, "is a good place for it. There are sixty rooms in this house. Sixty."

      "That's a lot of rooms," Malone said politely.

      "A mansion," Burris said. "A positive mansion. And my family has lived here ever since--"

      "I'm sure Ken isn't very interested in your family just now," Lou broke in.

      "My family," Burris said with dignity, "is a very interesting family."

      "I'm sure it must be," Lou said demurely. Sir Lewis choked with laughter suddenly and began waving his pipe. After a minute, Malone joined in.

      "Damn it," Burris said. "Let's stick to one thing or the other. Did I say that?"

      "Twice," Malone said.

      "Sixty rooms," Burris said. "All built by my family. And local contractors, of course. That's enough to house sixty rooms full of people. And that number of people is a large houseful, I should think."

      "It sounds like a lot," Malone said.

      "It is a lot," Burris said. "All in my house. The house my family built."

      "And we're grateful for it," Sir Lewis said soothingly. "We truly are."

      "Good," Burris said.

      "You must have had a large family," Lou said.

      "A large family," Burris said, "and many guests. Many, many guests. From all over. Including famous people. General Hood slept in this house, and he slept very well indeed."

      "As a matter of fact," Lou added, "he's still sleeping. They call it being dead."

      "That's not funny," Burris snapped.

      "Sorry," Lou said. "It was meant to be."

      "I--" Burris shut his mouth and glared.

      Malone was far away, thinking of the sixty rooms full of people, sitting quietly, their minds ranging into the distance, meshed together in small units. It was a picture that frightened and comforted him at the same time. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he certainly didn't dislike it, either.

      After all, he told himself confusedly, too many cooks save a stitch in time.

      He veered away from that sentence quickly. "Tell me," he said, "were you receiving my broadcast on the way here?"

      Burris and Sir Lewis nodded. Lou started to nod, too, but stopped and looked surprised. "You mean you didn't know we were?" she said.

      "How could I know?" Malone said. "After all, I was just tossing it out and hoping that somebody was on the listening end."

      "But of course somebody was," Lou said. "I was."

      "Good," Malone said. "But I still don't see how I was supposed to know that you--"

      "I answered you, silly," Lou said. "I kept on answering you. Remember?"

      Malone blinked, focused and then said, very slowly, "That was my imagination. Please tell me it was my imagination before I go nuts."

      "Sorry," Lou said. "It wasn't."

      "But that kind of thing," Malone said, "it takes a tremendous amount of power, doesn't it?"

      "Not when the receiver is a telepath," Lou said sweetly.

      Malone nodded slowly. "That," he said, "is exactly what I'm afraid of. Don't tell me--"

      There was silence.

      "Well?" Malone said.

      "You said not to tell you," Lou said instantly.

      "All right," Malone said. "I rescind the order. Am I a telepath, or am I not?"

      Lou's