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

      "What do you mean?" she said.

      "I think it would be nice for her to get away from me--I mean from here," the psychiatrist said. "Where did you say you were taking her?" he asked Malone.

      "Yucca Flats," Malone said.

      "Ah." The news seemed to please the psychiatrist. "That's a long distance from here, isn't it? It's quite a few hundred miles away. Perhaps even a few thousand miles away. I feel sure that will be the best thing for me--I mean, of course, for Miss Thompson. I shall recommend that the court so order."

      "Doctor--" But even Barbara saw, Malone could tell, that it was no good arguing with Dr. Harman. She tried a last attack. "Doctor, who's going to take care of her?"

      A light the size and shape of North America burst in Malone's mind. He almost chortled. But he managed to keep his voice under control. "What she needs," he said, "is a trained psychiatric nurse."

      Barbara Wilson gave him a look that had carloads of U235 stacked away in it, but Malone barely minded. She'd get over it, he told himself.

      "Now, wasn't that sweet of you to think of that," the little old lady said. Malone looked at her and was rewarded with another wink. Good God, he thought. She reads minds!

      "I'm certainly glad you thought of Barbara," the little old lady went on. "You will go with me, won't you, dear? I'll make you a duchess. Wouldn't you like to be a duchess, dear?"

      Barbara looked from Malone to the little old lady, and then she looked at Dr. Harman. Apparently what she saw failed to make her happy.

      "We'll take good care of her, Barbara," Malone said.

      She didn't even bother to give him an answer. After a second Boyd said: "Well, I guess that settles it. If you'll let me use your phone, Dr. Harman, I'll call Judge Dunning."

      "Go right ahead," Dr. Harman said. "Go right ahead."

      The little old lady smiled softly without looking at anybody at all. "Won't it be wonderful," she whispered. "At last I've been recognized. My country is about to pay me for my services. My loyal subjects...." She stopped and wiped what Malone thought was a tear from one cornflower-blue eye.

      "Now, now, Miss Thompson," Barbara said.

      "I'm not sad," the little old lady said, smiling up at her. "I'm just so very happy. I am about to get my reward, my well-deserved reward at last, from all of my loyal subjects. You'll see." She paused and Malone felt a faint stirring of stark, chill fear.

      "Won't it be wonderful?" said the little old lady.

      Chapter 4

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      "You're where?" Andrew J. Burris said.

      Malone looked at the surprised face on the screen and wished he hadn't called. He had to report in, of course--but, if he'd had any sense, he'd have ordered Boyd to do the job for him.

      Oh, well, it was too late for that now. "I'm in Las Vegas," he said. "I tried to get you last night, but I couldn't, so I--"

      "Las Vegas," Burris said. "Well, well. Las Vegas." His face darkened and his voice became very loud. "Why aren't you in Yucca Flats?" he screamed.

      "Because she insisted on it," Malone said. "The old lady. Miss Thompson. She says there's another telepath here."

      Burris closed his eyes. "Well, that's a relief," he said at last. "Somebody in one of the gambling houses, I suppose. Fine, Malone." He went right on without a pause: "The boys have uncovered two more in various parts of the nation. Not one of them is even close to sane." He opened his eyes. "Where's this one?" he said.

      Malone sighed. "In the looney bin," he said.

      Burris' eyes closed again. Malone waited in silence. At last Burris said: "All right. Get him out."

      "Right," Malone said.

      "Tell me," Burris said. "Why did Miss Thompson insist that you go to Las Vegas? Somebody else could have done the job. You could have sent Boyd, couldn't you?"

      "Chief," Malone said slowly, "what sort of mental condition are those other telepaths in?"

      "Pretty bad," Burris said. "As a matter of fact, very bad. Miss Thompson may be off her trolley, but the others haven't even got any tracks." He paused. "What's that got to do with it?" he said.

      "Well," Malone said, "I figured we'd better handle Miss Thompson with kid gloves--at least until we find a better telepath to work with." He didn't mention Barbara Wilson. The chief, he told himself, didn't want to be bothered with details.

      "Doggone right you'd better," Burris said. "You treat that old lady as if she were the Queen herself, understand?"

      "Don't worry," Malone said unhappily. "We are." He hesitated. "She says she'll help us find our spy, all right, but we've got to do it her way--or else she won't cooperate."

      "Do it her way, then," Burris said. "That spy--"

      "Chief, are you sure?"

      Burris blinked. "Well, then," he said, "what is her way?"

      Malone took a deep breath. "First," he said, "we had to come here and pick this guy up. This William Logan, who's in a private sanitarium just outside of Las Vegas. That's number one. Miss Thompson wants to get all the telepaths together, so they can hold mental conversations or something."

      "And all of them batty," Burris said.

      "Sure," Malone said. "A convention of nuts--and me in the middle. Listen, Chief--"

      "Later," Burris said. "When this is over we can all resign, or go fishing, or just plain shoot ourselves. But right now the national security is primary, Malone. Remember that."

      "Okay," Malone sighed. "Okay. But she wants all the nuts here."

      "Go along with her," Burris snapped. "Keep her happy. So far, Malone, she's the only lead we have on the guy who's swiping information from Yucca Flats. If she wants something, Malone, you do it."

      "But, Chief--"

      "Don't interrupt me," Burris said. "If she wants to be treated like a Queen, you treat her like one. Malone, that's an order!"

      "Yes, sir," Malone said sadly. "But, Chief, she wants us to buy her some new clothes."

      "My God," Burris exploded. "Is that all? New clothes? Get 'em. Put 'em on the expense account. New clothes are a drop in the bucket."

      "Well--she thinks we need new clothes, too."

      "Maybe you do," Burris said. "Put the whole thing on the expense account. You don't think I'm going to quibble about a few dollars, do you?"

      "Well--"

      "Get the clothes. Just don't bother me with details like this. Handle the job yourself, Malone--you're in charge out there. And get to Yucca Flats as soon as possible."

      Malone gave up. "Yes, sir," he said.

      "All right, then," Burris said. "Call me tomorrow. Meanwhile--good luck, Malone. Chin up."

      Malone said: "Yes, sir," and reached for the switch. But Burris' voice stopped him.

      "Just one thing," he said.

      "Yes, Chief?" Malone said.

      Burris frowned. "Don't spend any more for the clothes than you have to," he said.

      Malone nodded, and cut off.

      When the Director's image had vanished, he got up and went to the window of the hotel room. Outside, a huge sign told the world, and Malone, that this was the Thunderbird-Hilton-Zeckendorf Hotel, but Malone ignored it. He didn't need a sign; he knew where he was.

      In hot water, he thought. That's where he was.

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