"Then wouldn't Her Majesty know about them? If they're telepaths? Or is there some kind of a mind shield or something that a telepath could work out?"
"Mind shield?" O'Connor said. "Ah, yes. Miss Thompson might be fooled by such a shield. It would have to be an exceptional one, but such things do seem to be possible. They belong to the realm of mental disciplines, of course, rather than psionics."
"Sure," Malone said. "But there could be that kind of shield?"
"There could," O'Connor said. "The mind which created the shield for itself would have to be of tremendous power and a really high order of control. A strong, sane mind might conceivably create such a block that even Miss Thompson, let us say, might believe that she was picking up a real mind, when she was only picking up surface thoughts, with the real thought hidden behind the telepathic block."
"Fine," Malone said. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Dr. O'Connor."
"I am always happy to put my extensive knowledge of science at your disposal, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said.
Malone watched the image collapse without really seeing it. Instead, he was busily talking to himself, or rather to his other self.
"Well, now, Sir Kenneth," he said. "Let's pull all the facts together and see what happens."
"Indeed, Mr. Malone," said Sir Kenneth Malone, "it is time that we did. Proceed, Sirrah. I shall attend."
* * * * *
"Let's start from the beginning," Malone said. "We know there's confusion in all parts of the country, in all parts of the world, I guess. And we know that confusion is being caused by carefully timed accidents and errors. We also know that these errors appear to be accompanied by violent bursts of psionic static--violent energy. And we know, further, that on three specific occasions, these bursts of energy were immediately followed by a reversal of policy in the mind of the person on the receiving end."
"You mean," Sir Kenneth put in, "that they changed their minds."
"Correct," Malone said. "I refer, of course, to the firm of Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch, Spying Done Cheap."
"Indeed," Sir Kenneth said. "Then the operators of this force, whatever it may be, have some interest in allowing these spies to confess?"
"Maybe," Malone said. "Let's leave that for later. To get back to the beginning of all this: it seems to me to follow that the accidents and errors which have caused all the confusion through the United States and Russia are caused by somebody's mind being changed at exactly the right moment. A man does something just a little differently than he decided to--or else he forgets to do it at all."
"Correct," Sir Kenneth said. "And you feel, Mr. Malone, that a telepathic command is the cause of this confusion?"
"A series of them," Malone said. "But we also know, from Dr. O'Connor, that it takes a great deal of psychic energy to perform this particular trick--more than a person can normally afford to expend."
"Marry, now," Sir Kenneth exclaimed, "such a statement does not seem to have reason in it. Changing the mind of a man seems a small thing in comparison to teleportation, or psychokinesis, or levitation. And yet it takes more power than any of these?"
Malone thought for a second. "Sure it does," he said. "I'd say it was a matter of resistance. Moving an inanimate object is pretty simple-- comparatively, anyhow--because inert matter has no mental resistance."
"And moving yourself?" Sir Kenneth said.
"There is some resistance there, probably," Malone said. "But you'll remember that part of the Fueyo training system for teleportation involved overcoming your own mental resistance to the idea."
"True," Sir Kenneth said. "Quite true. Then let us say that it requires enormous power to effect these changes. What is our next step, Mr. Malone?"
"Next, Sir Kenneth," Malone said, "We have to do a little supposing. This project must be handled by a fairly large group, since no individual can work it. This large group has to be telepathic, and not only for the precise timing O'Connor specified."
"There is another reason?" Sir Kenneth said.
"There is," Malone said. "They've also got to know exactly when to make their victim change his mind. Right?"
"Absolutely," said Sir Kenneth. "Now, Sirrah, where does all this leave us? We have had the orderly presentation of the case; where, Sirrah, is your summation?"
"Coming up," Malone said. "We've got to look for a widespread organization of telepaths, with enough mental discipline to hold a mental shield that Her Majesty can't crack, and can't even recognize the existence of. We thought she'd found all the telepaths. She said so, and she obviously thought so. But she didn't. These are strong, trained--and sane."
"Aha," said Sir Kenneth.
"Her Majesty," Malone said, "found us only the crazy telepaths, the weak ones, the nuts."
"Fine," said Sir Kenneth. "And this, Mr. Malone, leaves us with only one question. Her Majesty--may God bless her--stated that she first spotted these flashes of telepathic static by listening in on our minds."
"Our mind," Malone said. "I hope."
"Very well," Sir Kenneth said. "This means that some force is being directed in this way, toward us. And how do we know that all the deduction, all the careful case-building we have done, hasn't been influenced by this group? That might mean, of course, that we are miles, or even light-years, from the solution."
Malone said: "Yeep." The sound was echoed by Sir Kenneth, and the two halves of the coruscating mind of Kenneth J. Malone were once more one.
Your Majesty, the minds thought, I'd like to talk to you.
Nothing happened. Evidently, Her Majesty was temporarily out of mental contact with him.
"Hell," Malone said. "Not to mention od's blood." He flipped on the visiphone and dialed Yucca Flats.
The figure that appeared on the screen was that of a tall, solidly-built man with a red face and the uniform of a Beefeater. This Tower Warder had the British royal crest embroidered on his chest, and the letters: "E. R."
"Good evening, Sir Kenneth," he said politely.
Malone had sometimes wondered what it would be like to be on the Queen's permanent, personal staff. Evidently, it soaked in so thoroughly that one began to stay in character all the time. The little old lady's delusion was such a pleasant one that it was painlessly infectious.
"I'd like to speak to Her Majesty, Colonel Fairfax," Malone said.
"Her Majesty," Colonel Fairfax said with regret, "is asleep, sir. I understand that she has had rather a trying time, of late."
"Then I must ask you to wake her," Malone said. "I don't want to disturb her any more than you do, Colonel, but this is important."
"Her Majesty's rest," Colonel Fairfax said gently, "is also important, Sir Kenneth."
"This is more important," Malone said. "I know how you feel, but it's necessary to wake her."
The screen blanked out.
Malone sighed and began to sing softly to himself while he waited:
"The soldiers of the Queen are linked in friendly tether-- And if she's off her bean, we'll all go nuts together..."
Her Majesty appeared at this point, dressed in a silken robe bearing her crest and initials (E. R., rather than R. T., of course), and wearing a silken Mother Hubbard cap on her head. "Oh, dear," she said instantly. "Are you still worried about them?"
"The flashes?" Malone said. "That's right. You tuned in on my mind right away, didn't you?"
"As soon as I got your message," she said. "I like your little song, at least, I think I do."
Malone blushed faintly. "Sorry," he said.
"Oh,