that wasso safe about busting up civilization? How did that save us from theLast War?"
Sir Lewis nodded. "First," he said, "we've developed a technique ofthrowing up a shield and screening it with a surface of innocuousthoughts--like hiding behind a movie screen. Second ... well, we hadto get the jobs done, Malone. And Andrew thought you were the mostcapable, dangerous or not. For one thing, we wanted to get all theinsane telepaths in one place; it's difficult to work when theatmosphere's full of such telepathic ravings."
"But wrecking the world because of a man with a mind-shield--why notjust work things so his underlings wouldn't obey him?" Malone shookhis head. "That sounds more reasonable."
"It may," Sir Lewis said. "But it wouldn't work. As a matter of fact,it was tried, and it didn't work. You see, the Sino-Soviet top menwere smart enough to see that their underlings were being tamperedwith. And they've developed a system, partly depending on automaticfiring systems, partly on individuals with mind-blocks--that is,people who aren't being tampered with--which we can't disruptdirectly. So we had to smash them."
"And the United States at the same time," Burris said. "The economicbalance had to be kept; a strong America would be forced in to fillthe power vacuum otherwise, and that would make for an even worsecatastrophe. And if we weren't in trouble, the Sino-Soviet Bloc wouldblame their mess on us. And that would start the Last War beforecollapse could get started. Right, Malone?"
"I see," Malone said, thinking that he almost did. He told himself hecould feel happy now; the danger--which hadn't been danger to him,really, but danger from him toward the PRS, toward civilization--wasover. But he didn't feel happy. He didn't feel anything.
"There's a crisis building in New York," Sir Lewis said suddenly,"that's going to take all our attention. Malone, why don't you ...well, go home and get some rest? We're going to be busy for a while,and you'll want to be fresh for the work coming up."
"Sure," Malone said listlessly. "Sure."
As the others rose, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Thenhe vanished.
XVII
Two hours passed, somehow. Bourbon and soda helped them pass, Malonediscovered; he drank two high-balls slowly, trying not to think aboutanything. He felt terrible. After a while he made himself a thirdhigh-ball and started on it. Maybe this would make him feel better.Maybe he thought, he ought to break out his cigars and celebrate.
But there didn't seem to be very much to celebrate somehow. He feltlike an amoeba on a slide being congratulated on having successfullyconquered the world.
He drank some more bourbon-and-soda. Amoebae, he told himself, didn'tdrink bourbon-and-soda. He was better off than an amoeba. He washappier than an amoeba. But somehow he couldn't imagine any amoeba inthe world, no matter how heart-broken, feeling any worse than KennethJ. Malone.
He looked up. There was another amoeba in the room.
Then he frowned. She wasn't an amoeba, he thought. She was thescientist the amoeba was supposed to fall in love with, so thescientist could report on everything he did, so all the otherscien--psiontists could know all about him. But whoever heard of ascien--psiontist--falling in love with an amoeba? Nobody. It was fate.And fate was awful. Malone had often suspected it, but now he wassure. Now he was looking at things from the amoeba's side, and fatewas terrible.
"No, Ken," the psiontist said. "It needn't be at all like that."
"Oh, yes, it need," Malone said positively. "It need be even worse.When I have some more to drink, it'll _be_ even worse. Wait and see."
"Ken," Luba said softly, "you don't have to suffer this way."
"No," Malone said agreeably, "I don't. You could shoot me and then I'dbe dead. Just quit all this amoebing around, O.K.?"
"You're already half shot," Luba said sharply. "Now be quiet andlisten. You're angry because you've fallen in love with me and you'reall choked up over the futility of it all."
"Exactly," Malone said. "Ex-positively-actly. You're a psionicsuper-man--woman. You can figure things out in your own little headinstead of just getting along on dum psionic luck like us amoebae.You're too far above me."
"Ken, listen!" Luba snapped. "Look into my mind. You can link up withme: go ahead and do it. You can read me clear down to the subconsciousif you want to."
Malone blinked.
"Now, Ken!" Luba said.
Malone looked. For a long time.
* * * * *
Half an hour later, Kenneth J. Malone, alone in his room, was humminghappily to himself as he brushed a few specks of dust from the top ofhis best royal blue bowler. He faced the mirror on the wall, puffed onthe cigar clenched between his teeth, and adjusted the bowler to justthe right angle.
There was a knock on the door. He went and opened it, carefullydisposing of the cigar first. "Oh," he said. "What are you doinghere?"
"Just saying hello," Thomas Boyd grinned. "Back at work?"
Boyd didn't know, of course, what had happened. Nor need he ever know."Just about," Malone said. "Spending the evening relaxing, though."
"Hm-m-m," Boyd said. "Let me guess. Her name begins with L?"
"It does not," Malone said flatly.
"But--" Boyd began.
Malone cast about in his mind for an explanation. Telling Boyd thetruth--that Luba and Kenneth J. Malone just weren't equals as far associal intercourse went--would leave him exactly nowhere. But,somehow, it had to be said. "Tom," he said, "suppose you met abeautiful girl--charming, wonderful, brilliant."
"Great," Boyd said. "I like it already."
"Suppose she looked about ... oh ... twenty-three," Malone went on.
"Do any more supposing," Boyd said, "and I'll be pawing the ground."
"And then," Malone said, very carefully, "suppose you found out, afteryou'd been out with her ... well, when you took her out, say, you metyour grandmother."
"My grandmother," Boyd said virtuously, "doesn't go to joints likethat."
"Use your imagination," Malone snapped. "And suppose your grandmotherrecognized the girl as an old schoolmate of hers."
Boyd swallowed hard. "As a what?"
"An old schoolmate," Malone said. "Suppose this girl were so charmingand everything just because she'd had ... oh, ninety years or so topractice in."
"Malone," Boyd said in a depressed tone, "you can spoil more ideas--"
"Well," Malone said, "would you go out with her again?"
"You kidding?" Boyd said. "Of course not."
"But she's the same girl," Malone said. "You've just found outsomething new about her, that's all."
Boyd nodded. "So," he said, "you found out something new about Luba.Like, maybe, she's ninety years old?"
"No," Malone said. "Nothing like that. Just--something." He rememberedQueen Elizabeth's theory of politeness toward superiors: people, she'dsaid, act as if they believed their bosses were superior to them, butthey didn't believe it.
On the other hand, he thought, when a man knows and believes thatsomeone actually _is_ superior--then, he doesn't mind at all. He candepend on that superiority to help him. And love, ordinaryman-and-woman love, just can't exist.
Nor, Malone told himself, would anyone want it to. It would, afterall, be damned uncomfortable.
"So who's the girl?" Boyd said. "And where? The clubs are all closed,and the streets probably aren't very safe just now."
"Barbara Wilson," Malone said, "and Yucca Flats. I ought to be able toget a fast plane." He shrugged. "Or maybe teleport," he added.
"Sure," Boyd said. "But on a night with so many troubles--"
"Oh, King Henry," Malone said, "hearken. A man who looks as historicalas you do ought to know a little history."
"Such as?" Boyd said, bristling slightly.
"There have always been troubles," Malone said. "In the EighthCentury, it was Saracens; in the Fourteenth, the Black Death. Thenthere was the Reformation, and the Prussians in 1870, and the Spanishin 1898, and--"
"And?" Boyd said.
Malone took a deep breath. He co
uld almost feel the court dressflowing over him, as the court manners did. Lady Barbara, after all,attendant to Her Majesty, would expect a certain character from him.
After a second, he had it.
"In 1914, it was enemy aliens," said Sir Kenneth Malone.
THE END
* * * * *
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