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

lips didn't move. But then, they didn't have to.

      The message came, unbidden, into Malone's mind.

       Of course you are. That was the whole reason for Andrew's assigning you to this type of case.

      "My God," Malone said softly.

      Sir Lewis laid down his pipe in a handy ashtray. "Of course," he said, "you will find it difficult to pick up anyone but Lou, at first. The rapport between you two is really quite strong."

      "Very strong indeed," Lou murmured. Malone found himself beginning to blush.

      "It will be some time yet," Sir Lewis went on, "before you can really call yourself a telepath, my boy."

      "I'll bet it will," Malone said. "Before I can call myself a telepath I'm going to have to get thoroughly used to the idea. And that's going to take a long, long time indeed."

      "You only think that," Sir Lewis said. "Actually, you're used to the idea now. That was Andrew's big job."

      "His big job?" Malone said. "Now, wait a minute--"

      "You don't think I picked you for our first psionics case out of thin air, do you?" Burris said. "Before anything else, you had to be forced to accept the fact that such things as telepaths really existed."

      "Oh, they do," Malone said. "They certainly do."

      "There's me, for instance," Burris said. "But you had to be convinced. So I ordered you to go out and find one."

      "Like the Bluebird of Happiness," Malone said.

      Burris frowned. "What's like the Bluebird of Happiness?" he said.

      "You are," Malone said.

      "I am not," Burris said indignantly. "Bluebirds eat worms. My God, Malone."

      "But the Bluebird," Malone said doggedly, "was right at home all the time, while everyone searched for it far away. And I had to go far away to find a telepath, when you were the one who ordered me to do it."

      "Right," Burris said. "So you went and found Her Majesty. And, when you did find her, she forced acceptance on you simply by being Her Majesty and proving to you, once and for all, that she could read minds."

      "Great," Malone said. "Of course, I could have got myself killed taking these lessons--"

      "We were watching you," Burris said. "If anything had happened, we'd have been right on the spot."

      "In time to bury the body," Malone said. "I think that's very thoughtful of you."

      "We would have arrived in time to save you," Burris said. "Don't quibble. You're alive, aren't you?"

      "Well," Malone said slowly, "if you're not sure, I don't know how I can convince you."

      "There," Burris said triumphantly. "You see?"

      Malone sighed wearily. "Okay," he said. "So you sent me out to find a telepath and to prove to me that there were such things. And I did. And then what happened?"

      "You had a year," Burris said, "to get used to the idea of somebody reading your mind."

      "Thanks," Malone said. "Of course, I didn't know it was you."

      "It was Her Majesty too," Burris said. "Everybody."

      "Good old Malone," Malone said. "The human peep-show."

      "Now, that's what we mean," Sir Lewis broke in. "Subconsciously, you disliked the idea of leaving your thoughts bare to anyone, even a sweet little old lady. To some extent, you still do. But that will pass."

      "Goody," Malone said.

      "The residue is simply not important," Sir Lewis went on. "Your telepathic talents prove that."

      "Oh, fine," Malone said. "Here I am reading minds and teleporting and all sorts of things. What will the boys back at Headquarters think now?"

      "We'll get to that," Burris said. "But that first case did one more thing for you. Because you didn't like the idea of leaving your mind open, you began to develop a shield. That allowed you some sort of mental privacy."

      "And then," Malone said, "I met Mike Fueyo and his little gang of teleporting juvenile delinquents."

      "So that you could develop a psionic ability of your own," Burris said. "That completed your acceptance. But it took a threat to solidify that shield. That was step three. When you discovered your mind was being tampered with--"

      "The shield started growing stronger," Malone said. "Sure. Her Majesty told me that, though she didn't know why."

      "Right," Burris said.

      "But, wait a minute," Malone said. "How could I do all that without knowing it? How would I know that some of my thoughts were safe behind a shield if I didn't know the shield existed and couldn't even tell if my mind were being read?" He paused. "Does that make sense?" he asked.

      "It does," Burris said, "but it shouldn't."

      "What?" 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. That was Lou's job."

      "Lou's ... job?" Malone said. He felt his own shield go up. The thoughts behind it weren't pleasant. Lou had been ... well, hired to stay with him. She had pretended to like him; it was part of her job.

      That was perfectly clear now.

      Horribly clear.

      "You are now on your way," Sir Lewis said, "to being a real psionicist."

      "Fine," Malone said dully. "But why me? Why not, oh, Wolfe Wolf? I'd think he'd have a better chance than I would."

      "My secretary," Burris said, "has talents enough of his own. But you, you're something brand-new. It's wonderful, Malone. It's exciting."

      "It's a new taste thrill," Malone murmured. "Try Bon-Ton B-Complex Bolsters. Learn to eat your blanket as well as sleep with it."

      "What?" Burris said.

      "Never mind," Malone said. "You wouldn't understand."

      "But I--"

      "I know you wouldn't," Malone said, "because I don't."

      Sir Lewis cleared his throat "My dear boy," he said, "you represent a breakthrough. You are an adult."

      "That," Malone said testily, "is not news."

      "But you are a telepathic adult," Sir Lewis said. "Many of them are capable of developing it into a useful ability. Children who have the talent may accidentally develop the ability to use it, but that almost invariably results in insanity. Without proper guidance, a child is no more capable of handling the variety of impressions it receives from adult minds than it is capable of understanding a complex piece of modern music. The effort to make a coherent whole out of the impression overstrains the mind, so to speak, and the damage is permanent."

      "So here I am," Malone said, "and I'm not nuts. At least I don't think I'm nuts."

      "Because you are an adult," Sir Lewis went on. "Telepathy seems to be almost impossible to develop in an adult, even difficult to test for it. A child may be tested comparatively simply; an adult, seldom or never."

      He paused to relight his pipe.

      "However," he went on, "the Psychical Research Society's executive board discovered a method of bringing out the ability in a talented child as far back as 1931. All of us who are sane telepaths today owe our ability