suddenly, but gently. "Shame on you, SirKenneth. These are poor, sick people. We must do our best to helpthem--not to think up silly names for them. For shame!"
"I suppose so," Malone said wearily. He sighed and, for the fifth timethat day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty have any idea where our spy isnow?"
"Well, really, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said with the slightest ofhesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy has certain laws,just like everything else. After all, even a game has laws. Beingtelepathic didn't help me to play poker--I still had to learn therules. And telepathy has rules, too. A telepath can easily confuseanother telepath by using some of those rules."
"Oh, fine," Malone said. "Well, have you got into contact with hismind yet?"
"Oh, yes," Her Majesty said happily. "And my goodness, he's certainlydigging up a lot of information, isn't he?"
Malone moaned softly. "But who _is_ he?" he asked after a second.
The Queen stared at the roof of the car in what looked likeconcentration. "He hasn't thought of his name yet," she said. "I mean,at least, if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me. Really, SirKenneth, you have no idea how difficult all this is."
Malone swallowed with difficulty.
_"Where_ is he, then," said. "Can you tell me that, at least? Hislocation?"
Her Majesty looked positively desolated with sadness. "I can't besure," she said. "I really can't be exactly sure just where he is. Hedoes keep moving around, I know that. But you have to remember that hedoesn't want me to find him. He certainly doesn't want to be found bythe FBI--would you?"
"Your Majesty," Malone said, "I _am_ the FBI."
"Yes," the Queen said, "but suppose you weren't? He's doing his bestto hide himself, even from me. It's sort of a game he's playing."
"A game!"
Her Majesty looked contrite. "Believe me, Sir Kenneth, the minute Iknow exactly where he is, I'll tell you. I promise. Cross my heart andhope to die--which I can't, of course, being immortal." Nevertheless,she made an X-mark over her left breast. "All right?"
"All right," Malone said, out of sheer necessity. "Okay. But don'twaste any time telling me. Do it right away. We've _got_ to find thatspy and isolate him somehow."
"Please don't worry yourself, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "YourQueen is doing everything she can."
"I know that, Your Majesty," Malone said. "I'm sure of it." Privately,he wondered just how much even she could do. Then he realized--forperhaps the ten-thousandth time--that there was no such thing aswondering privately any more.
"That's quite right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said sweetly. "And it'sabout time you got used to it."
"What's going on?" Boyd said. "More reading minds back there?"
"That's right, Sir Thomas," the Queen said.
"I've about gotten used to it," Boyd said almost cheerfully. "Prettysoon they'll come and take me away, but I don't mind at all." Hewhipped the car around a bend in the road savagely. "Pretty soonthey'll put me with the other sane people and let the bats inherit theworld. But I don't mind at all."
"Sir Thomas!" Her Majesty said in shocked tones.
"Please," Boyd said with a deceptive calmness. "Just Mr. Boyd. Noteven Lieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if youprefer, Tom."
"Sir Thomas," Her Majesty said, "I really can't understand thissudden--"
"Then don't understand it," Boyd said. "All I know is everybody'snuts, and I'm sick and tired of it."
A pall of silence fell over the company.
"Look, Tom," Malone began at last.
"Don't you try smoothing me down," Boyd snapped.
Malone's eyebrows rose. "Okay," he said. "I won't smooth you down.I'll just tell you to shut up, to keep driving--and to show somerespect to Her Majesty."
"I--" Boyd stopped. There was a second of silence.
_"That's_ better," Her Majesty said with satisfaction.
Lady Barbara stretched in the back seat, next to Her Majesty. "This iscertainly a long drive," she said. "Have we got much farther to go?"
"Not too far," Malone said. "We ought to be there soon."
"I--I'm sorry for the way I acted," Barbara said.
"What do you mean, the way you acted?"
"Crying like that," Barbara said with some hesitation. "Making an--absolute idiot of myself. When that other car--tried to get us."
"Don't worry about it," Malone said. "It was nothing."
"I just--made trouble for you," Barbara said.
Her Majesty touched the girl on the shoulder. "He's not thinking aboutthe trouble you cause him," she said quietly.
"Of course I'm not," Malone told her. "But I--"
"My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I believe that Sir Kenneth is, atleast partly, in love with you."
Malone blinked. It was perfectly true--even if he hadn't quite knownit himself until now. Telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionallyhandy things to have around.
"In... love...." Barbara said.
"And you, my dear--" Her Majesty began.
"Please, Your Majesty," Lady Barbara said. "No more. Not just now."
The Queen smiled, almost to herself. "Certainly, dear," she said.
The car sped on. In the distance, Malone could see the blot on thedesert that indicated the broad expanse of Yucca Flats Labs. Just thefact that it could be seen, he knew, didn't mean an awful lot. Malonehad been able to see it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn'tlook as if they'd gained an inch on it. Desert distances aredeceptive.
At long last, however, the main gate of the laboratories hove intoview. Boyd made a left turn off the highway and drove a full sevenmiles along the restricted road, right up to the big gate that markedthe entrance of the laboratories themselves. Once again, they werefaced with the army of suspicious guards and security officers.
This time, suspicion was somewhat heightened by the dress of thevisitors. Malone had to explain about six times that the costumes werepart of an FBI arrangement, that he had not stolen his identity cards,that Boyd's cards were Boyd's, too, and in general that the four ofthem were not insane, not spies, and not jokesters out for a lark inthe sunshine.
Malone had expected all of that. He went through the rigmarolewearily but without any sense of surprise. The one thing he hadn'tbeen expecting was the man who was waiting for him on the other sideof the gate.
When he'd finished identifying everybody for the fifth or sixth time,he began to climb back into the car. A familiar voice stopped himcold.
"Just a minute, Malone," Andrew J. Burris said. He erupted from theguardhouse like an avenging angel, followed closely by a thin man,about five feet ten inches in height, with brush-cut brown hair, roundhorn-rimmed spectacles, large hands and a small Sir Francis Drakebeard. Malone looked at the two figures blankly.
"Something wrong, Chief?" he said.
Burris came toward the car. The thin gentleman followed him, walkingwith an odd bouncing step that must have been acquired, Malonethought, over years of treading on rubber eggs. "I don't know," Burrissaid when he'd reached the door. "When I was in Washington, I seemedto know--but when I get out here in this desert, everything just goeshaywire." He rubbed at his forehead.
Then he looked into the car. "Hello, Boyd," he said pleasantly.
"Hello, Chief," Boyd said.
Burris blinked. "Boyd, you look like Henry VIII," he said with onlythe faintest trace of surprise.
"Doesn't he, though?" Her Majesty said from the rear seat. "I'venoticed that resemblance myself."
Burris gave her a tiny smile. "Oh," he said. "Hello, Your Majesty.I'm--"
"Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI," the Queen finished for him."Yes, I know. It's very nice to meet you at last. I've seen you ontelevision, and over the video phone. You photograph badly, you know."
"I do?" Burris said pleasantly. It was obvious that he was keepinghimself under very tight control.
Malone felt remotely sorry for the man--but only remotely. Burrismight as well know, he thought, what they had all been goi
ng throughthe past several days.
Her Majesty was saying something about the honorable estate ofknighthood, and the Queen's list. Malone began paying attention whenshe came to:"--and I hereby dub thee--"