Occasion for Disaster

differentmatter.

  Her majesty didn't know about any others, true. But Malone thought ofhis own mind-shield. If he could make himself telepathically"invisible," why couldn't someone else? Dr. Marshall's theories seemedto point the other way--but they only went for telepaths like HerMajesty, who were psychotic. A sane telepath, Malone thought, mightconceivably develop such a mind-shield.

  All known telepaths were nuts, he told himself. Now, he began to seewhy. He'd started out, two years before, _hunting_ for nuts, and foridiots. But they wouldn't even know anything about sane telepaths--thesane ones probably wouldn't even want to communicate with them.

  A sane telepath was pretty much of an unknown quantity. But that,Malone told himself with elation, was exactly what he was looking for.Could a sane telepath do what an insane one couldn't--and projectthoughts, or at least mental bursts?

  He got out of the cooling tub and grabbed for a terry-cloth robe. Noteven bothering about the time, he closed his eyes. When he opened themagain he was in the Yucca Flats apartment of Dr. Thomas O'Connor.

  O'Connor wasn't sleeping, exactly. He sat in a chair in hisbare-looking living room, a book open on his lap, his head noddingslightly. Malone's entrance made no sounds, and O'Connor didn't moveor look around.

  "Doctor," Malone said, "is it possible that--"

  O'Connor came up off the chair a good foot and a half. He went: "Eee,"and came down again, still gripping the book. His head turned.

  "It's me," Malone said.

  "Indeed," O'Connor said. "Indeed indeed. My goodness." He opened hismouth some more but no words came out of it. "Eee," he said again, atlast, in a conversational tone.

  Malone took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I startled you," he said, "butthis is important and it couldn't wait." O'Connor stared blankly athim. "Dr. O'Connor," Malone said, "it's me. Kenneth J. Malone. I wantto talk to you."

  * * * * *

  At last O'Connor's expression returned almost to normal. "Mr. Malone,"he said, "you are undressed."

  Malone sighed. "This is important, doctor," he said. "Let's not wastetime with all that kind of thing."

  "But, Mr. Malone--" O'Connor began frostily.

  "I need some information," Malone said, "and maybe you've got it. Whatdo you know about telepathic projection?"

  "About what?" O'Connor said. "Do you mean nontelepaths receiving somesort of ... communication from telepaths?"

  "Right," Malone said. "Mind-to-mind communication, of course; I'm notinterested in the United States mail or the telephone companies. Howabout it, doctor? Is it possible?"

  O'Connor gnawed at his lower lip for a second. "There have been casesreported," he said at last. "Very few have been written up with anyaccuracy, and those seem to be confined to close relatives or lovedones of the person projecting the message."

  "Is that necessary?" Malone said. "Isn't it possible that--"

  "Further," O'Connor said, getting back into his lecture-room stride,"I think you'll find that the ... ah ... message so received is oneindicating that the projector of such a message is in dire peril. Hehas, for instance, been badly injured, or is rapidly approachingdeath, or else he has narrowly escaped death."

  "What does that have to do with it?" Malone said. "I mean, why shouldall those requirements be necessary?"

  O'Connor frowned slightly. "Because," he said, "the amount of psionicenergy necessary for such a feat is tremendous. Usually, it is thefinal burst of energy, the outpouring of all the remaining psionicforce immediately before death. And if death does not occur, theperson is at the least greatly weakened; his mind, if it ever doesrecover, needs time and rest to do so."

  "And he reaches a relative or a loved one," Malone said, "because thelinkage is easier; there's some thought of him in that other mind forhim to 'tune in' on."

  "We assume so," O'Connor said.

  "Very well, then," Malone said. "I'll assume so, too. But if theenergy is so great, then a person couldn't do this sort of thing veryoften."

  "Hardly," O'Connor said.

  Malone nodded. "It's like ... like giving blood to a blood bank," hesaid. "Giving ... oh, three quarts of blood. It might not kill you.But if it didn't, you'd be weak for a long time."

  "Exactly," O'Connor said. "A good analogy, Mr. Malone." Malone lookedat him and felt relieved that he'd managed to get the conversationonto pure lecture-room science so quickly. O'Connor, easily at home inthat world, had been able to absorb the shock of Malone's suddenappearance while providing the facts in his own inimitable, frozenmanner.

  "So one telepath couldn't go on doing it all the time," he said."But--how about several people?"

  "Several people?" O'Connor said.

  "I mean ... well, let's look at that blood bank again," Malone said."You need three quarts of blood. But one person doesn't have to giveit. Suppose twelve people gave half a pint each."

  "Ah," O'Connor said. "I see. Or twenty-four people, giving aquarter-pint each. Or--"

  "That's the idea," Malone said hurriedly. "I guess there'd be a pointof diminishing returns, but that's the point. Would something likethat be possible?"

  O'Connor thought for what seemed like a long time. "It might," he saidat last. "At least theoretically. But it would take a great deal ofmental co-ordination among the participants. They would all have to betelepaths, of course."

  "In order to mesh their thoughts right on the button, and direct themproperly and at the correct time," Malone said. "Right?"

  "Ah ... correct," O'Connor said. "Given that, Mr. Malone, I imaginethat it might possibly be done."

  "Wonderful," Malone said.

  "However," O'Connor said, apparently glad to throw even a little coldwater on the notion, "it could not be done for very long periods oftime, you understand. It would happen in rather short bursts."

  "That's right," Malone said, enjoying the crestfallen look onO'Connor's face. "That's exactly what I was looking for."

  "I'm ... ah ... glad to have been of service," O'Connor said."However, Mr. Malone, I should like to request--"

  "Oh, don't worry," Malone said. "I won't slam the door." He vanished.

  * * * * *

  It was eight-fifty. Hurriedly, he rinsed himself off, shaved and puton his evening clothes. But he was still late--it was two minutesafter nine when he showed up at the door that led off the lobby to theUniversal Joint. Luba was, surprisingly, waiting for him there.

  "Ready for a vast feast?" she asked pleasantly.

  "In about a minute and a half," Malone said. "Do you mind waiting thatlong?"

  "Frankly," Luba said, "in five minutes I will be gnawing holes in thegold paneling around here. And I do want to catch the first floorshow, too. I understand they've got a girl who has--"

  "That," Malone said sternly, "should interest me more than it doesyou."

  "I'm always interested in what the competition is doing," Luba said.

  "Nevertheless," Malone began, and stopped. After a second he startedagain: "Anyhow, this is important."

  "All right," she said instantly. "What is it?"

  He led her away from the door to an alcove in the lobby where theycould talk without being overheard. "Can you get hold of Sir Lewis atthis time of night?" he asked.

  "Sir Lewis?" she said. "If ... if it's urgent, I suppose I could."

  "It's urgent," Malone said. "I need all the data on telepathicprojection I can get. The scientists have given me some of it--maybePsychical Research has some more. I imagine it's all mixed up withghosts and ectoplasm, but--"

  "Telepathic projection," Luba said. "Is that where a person projects athought into somebody else's mind?"

  "That's it," Malone said. "Can Sir Lewis get me all the data on thattonight?"

  "Tonight?" Luba said. "It's pretty late and what with sending themfrom New York to Nevada--"

  "Don't bother about that," Malone said. "Just send 'em to the FBIOffices in New York. I'll have the boys there make copies and send thecopies on." Instead, he
thought, he would