huge,ultra-top-secret government reservation whenever he visited YuccaFlats. But that meant wasting a lot of time and going through a lot oftrouble. Malone had rationalized it out for himself that way, and hadgot just far enough to do things the quick and easy way, and not quitefar enough to feel undisturbed about it. After all, he told himselfgrimly, anything that saved time and trouble increased the efficiencyof the FBI, so it was all to the good.
He swallowed hard. "Dr. O'Connor--" he began.
O'Connor looked up again. "Yes?" he said. He'd had plenty of practicein watching people appear and disappear, between Malone and thespecimens Malone had brought him; he was beyond surprise or shock bynow.
"I came here to talk to you," Malone began again.
O'Connor nodded, a trifle impatiently. "Yes," he said. "I know that."
"Well--" Malone thought fast. Presenting the case to O'Connor wasimpossible; it was too complicated, and it might violate governmentalsecrecy somewhere along the line. He decided to wrap it up in ahypothetical situation. "Doctor," he said, "I know that all thevarious manifestations of the _psi_ powers were investigated and namedlong before responsible scientists became interested in the subject."
"That," O'Connor said with some reluctance, "is true." He looked sad,as if he wished they'd waited on naming some of the psionicmanifestations until he'd been born and started investigating them.Malone tried to imagine a person doing something called O'Connorizing,and decided he was grateful for history.
"Well, then--" he said.
"At least," O'Connor cut in, "it is true in a rather vague and generalway. You see, Mr. Malone, any precise description of a psionicmanifestation must wait until a metalanguage has grown up to encompassit; that is, until understanding and knowledge have reached the pointwhere careful and accurate description can take place."
"Oh," Malone said helplessly. "Sure." He wondered if what O'Connor hadsaid meant anything, and decided that it probably did, but he didn'twant to know about it.
"While we have not yet reached that point," O'Connor said, "we areapproaching it in our experiments. I am hopeful that, in the nearfuture--"
"Well," Malone cut in desperately, "sure. Of course. Naturally."
* * * * *
Dr. O'Connor looked miffed. The temperature of the room seemed todrop several degrees, and Malone swallowed hard and tried to lookingratiating and helpful, like a student with nothing but A's on hisrecord.
Before O'Connor could pick up the thread of his sentence, Malone wenton: "What I mean is something like this. Picking up the mentalactivity of another person is called telepathy. Floating in the air iscalled levitation. Moving objects around is psychokinesis. Going fromone place to another instantaneously is teleportation. And so on."
"The language you use," O'Connor said, still miffed, "is extremelyloose. I might go so far as to say that the statements you have madeare, essentially, meaningless as a result of their lack of rigor."
Malone took a deep breath. "Dr. O'Connor," he said, "you know what Imean, don't you?"
"I believe so," O'Connor said, with the air of a king granting apardon to a particularly repulsive-looking subject in the lowestincome brackets.
"Well, then," Malone said. "Yes or no?"
O'Connor frowned. "Yes or no what?" he said.
"I" Malone blinked. "I meant, the things have names," he said at last."All the various psionic manifestations have names."
"Ah," O'Connor said. "Well. I should say." He put his fingertipstogether and stared at a point on the white ceiling for a second."Yes," he said at last.
Malone breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," he said. "That's what Iwanted to know." He leaned forward. "And if they all do have names,"he went on, "what is it called, when a large group of people areforced to act in a certain manner?"
O'Connor shrugged. "Forced?" he said.
"Forced by mental power," Malone said.
There was a second of silence.
"At first," O'Connor said, "I might think of various examples: theactions of a mob, for example, or the demonstrations of the IndianRope Trick, or perhaps the sale of a useless product throughtelevision or through other advertising." Again his face moved, everso slightly, in what he obviously believed to be a smile. "The usualname for such a phenomenon is 'mass hypnotism,' Mr. Malone," he said."But that is not, strictly speaking, a _psi_ phenomenon at all.Studies in that area belong to the field of mob psychology; they arenot properly in my scope." He looked vastly superior to anything andeverything that was outside his scope. Malone concentrated on lookingreceptive and understanding.
"Yes?" he said.
O'Connor gave him a look that made Malone feel he'd been caughtcribbing during an exam, but the scientist said nothing to back up thelook. Instead, he went on: "I will grant that there may be anamplification of the telepathic faculty in the normal individual insuch cases."
"Good," Malone said doubtfully.
"Such an amplification," O'Connor went on, as if he hadn't heard,"would account for the apparent ... ah ... mental linkage that makes amob appear to act as a single organism during certain periods of ...ah ... stress." He looked judicious for a second, and then nodded."However," he said, "other than that, I would doubt that there is anypsionic force involved."
Malone spent a second or two digesting O'Connor's reply. "Well," hesaid at last, "I'm not sure that's what I meant. I mean, I'm not sureI meant to ask that question." He took a breath and decided to startall over. "It's not like a mob," he said, "with everybody all doingthe same thing at the same time. It's more like a group of men, allseparated, without any apparent connections between any of the men.And they're all working toward a common goal. All doing differentthings, but all with the same objective. See?"
"Of course I do," O'Connor said flatly. "But what you're suggesting--"He looked straight at Malone. "Have you had any experience of this ...phenomenon?"
"Experience?" Malone said.
"I believe you have had," O'Connor said. "Such a concept could nothave come to you in a theoretical manner. You must be involved with anactual situation very much like the one you describe."
Malone swallowed. "Me?" he said.
"Mr. Malone," O'Connor said. "May I remind you that this is YuccaFlats? That the security checks here are as careful as anywhere in theworld? That I, myself, have top-security clearance for my specialprojects? You do not need to watch your words here."
"It's not security," Malone said. "Anyhow, it's not only security. Butthings are pretty complicated."
"I assure you," O'Connor said, "that I will be able to understand evenevents which you feel are complex."
Malone swallowed again, hard. "I didn't mean--" he started.
"Please, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said. His voice was colder than usual.Malone had the feeling that he was about to take the extra chair away."Go on," O'Connor said. "Explain yourself."
Malone took a deep breath. He started with the facts he'd been told byBurris, and went straight through to the interviews of the twocomputer-secretary technicians by Boyd and Company.
It took quite a while. By the time he had finished, O'Connor wasn'tlooking frozen any more; he'd apparently forgotten to keep the freezercoils running. Instead, his face showed frank bewilderment, and greatinterest. "I never heard of such a thing," he said. "Never. Not at anytime."
"But--"
O'Connor shook his head. "I have never heard of a psionicmanifestation on that order," he said. It seemed to be a painfuladmission. "Something that would make a random group of men co-operatein that manner--why, it's completely new."
"It is?" Malone said, wondering if, when it was all investigated anddescribed, it might be called O'Connorizing. Then he wondered howanybody was going to go about investigating it and describing it, andsank even deeper into gloom.
"Completely new," O'Connor said. "You may take my word." Then, slowly,he began to brighten again, with all the glitter of newly-formed ice."As a matter of fact," he said, in a tone more like his usual one,"Mr. Malon
e, I don't think it's possible."
"But it happened," Malone said. "It's still happening. All over."
O'Connor's lips tightened. "I have given my opinion," he said. "I donot believe that such a thing is possible. There must be some otherexplanation."
"All right," Malone said agreeably. "I'll bite. What is it?"
O'Connor frowned. "Your levity," he said, "is uncalled-for."
Malone shrugged. "I didn't mean to be--" he paused. "Anyhow, I didn'tmean to be funny," he went on. "But I would like to have another ideaof what's causing all this."
"Scientific theories," O'Connor said sternly, "are not invented on thespur of the moment. Only after long, careful thought--"
"You mean you can't think of anything," Malone said.
"There must be some other explanation," O'Connor said. "Naturally,since the facts have only now been presented to me, it is impossiblefor me to display at once a fully constructed theory."
Malone nodded slowly. "O.K.," he said. "Have you got any hints, then?Any ideas at all?"
O'Connor shook his head. "I have not," he said. "But I stronglysuggest, Mr. Malone, that you recheck your data. The fault may verywell lie in your own interpretations of the actual facts."
"I don't think so," Malone said.
O'Connor grimaced. "I do," he said firmly.
Malone sighed, very faintly. He shifted in the chair and began torealize, for the first time, just how uncomfortable it really was. Healso felt a little chilly, and the chill was growing. That, he toldhimself, was the effect of Dr. O'Connor. He no longer regrettedwearing his hat. As a matter of fact, he thought wistfully for asecond of a small, light overcoat.
O'Connor, he told himself, was definitely not the warm, friendly type.
"Well, then," he said, conquering the chilly feeling for a second,"maybe there's somebody else. Somebody who knows something more aboutpsionics, and who might have some other ideas about--"
"Please, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said. "The United States Governmentwould hardly have chosen me had I not been uniquely qualified in myfield."
Malone sighed again. "I mean ... maybe there are some books on thesubject," he said quietly, hoping he sounded tactful. "Maybe there'ssomething I could look up."
"Mr. Malone." The temperature of the office, Malone realized, wasdefinitely lowering. O'Connor's built-in freezer coils were workingovertime, he told himself. "The field of psionics is so young that Ican say, without qualification, that I am acquainted with everythingwritten on the subject. By that, of course, I mean scientific works. Ido not doubt that the American Society for Psychical Research, forinstance, has hundreds of crackpot books which I have never read, oreven heard of. But in the strictly scientific field, I must saythat--"
He broke off, looking narrowly at Malone with what might have beenconcern, but looked more like discouragement and boredom.
"Mr. Malone," he said, "are you ill?"
Malone thought about it. He wasn't quite sure, he discovered. Thechill in the office was bothering him more and more, and as it grew hebegan to doubt that it was all due to the O'Connor influence. Suddenlya distinct shudder started somewhere in the vicinity of his shouldersand rippled its way down his body.
Another one followed it, and then a third.
"Me?" Malone said. "I'm ... I'm all right."
"You seem to have contracted a chill," O'Connor said.
A fourth shudder followed the other three.
"I ... guess so," Malone said. "I d-d ... I do s-seem to be r-r-ratherchilly."
O'Connor nodded. "Ah," he said. "I thought so. Although a chill iscertainly odd at seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit." He looked at thethermometer just outside the window of his office, then turned back toMalone. "Pardon me," he said. "Seventy-one point six."
"Is ... is that all it is?" Malone said. Seventy-one point sixdegrees, or even seventy-two, hardly sounded like the broiling Nevadadesert he'd expected.
"Of course," O'Connor said. "At nine o'clock in the morning, one wouldhardly expect great temperatures. The desert becomes quite hot duringthe day, but cools off rapidly; I assume you are familiar with thelaws covering the system."
"Sure," Malone said. "S-sure."
The chills were not getting any better. They continued to travel upand down his body with the dignified regularity of PennsylvaniaRailroad commuter trains.
O'Connor frowned for a second. It was obvious that his keen scientificeye was sizing up the phenomenon, and reporting events to his keenscientific brain. In a second or less, the keen scientific brain hadcome up with an answer, and Dr. O'Connor spoke in his very keenestscientific voice.
"I should have warned you," he said, without an audible trace ofregret. "The answer is childishly simple, Mr. Malone. You leftWashington at noon."
"Just a little before noon," Malone said. Remembering the burning sun,he added: "High noon. Very high."
"Just so," O'Connor said. "And not only the heat was intense; thehumidity, I assume, was also high."
"Very," Malone said, thinking back. He shivered again.
"In Washington," O'Connor said, "it was noon. Here it is nine o'clock,and hardly as warm. The atmosphere is quite arid, and about twentydegrees below that obtaining in Washington."
Malone thought about it, trying to ignore the chills. "Oh," he said atlast. "And all the time I thought it was you."
"What?" O'Connor leaned forward.
"Nothing," Malone said hastily.
"My suggestion," O'Connor said, putting his fingertips together again,"is that you take off your clothes, which are undoubtedly damp, and--"
Naturally, Malone had not brought any clothes to Yucca Flats to changeinto. And when he tried to picture himself in a spare suit of Dr.O'Connor's, the picture just wouldn't come. Besides, the idea of doinga modified strip-tease in, or near, the O'Connor office was thoroughlyunattractive.
"Well," he said slowly, "thanks a lot, doctor, but no thanks. I reallyhave a better idea."
"Better?" O'Connor said.
"Well, I--" Malone took a deep breath and shut his eyes.
He heard Dr. O'Connor say: "Well, Mr. Malone--good-by. And good luck."
Then the office in Yucca Flats was gone, and Malone was standing inthe bedroom of his own apartment, on the fringes of Washington, D. C.
IV
He walked over to the wall control and shut off the air-conditioningin a hurry. He threw open a window and breathed great gulps of thehot, humid air from the streets. In a small corner at the back of hismind, he wondered why he was grateful for the air he had sufferedunder only a few minutes before. But that, he reflected, was life. Anda very silly kind of life, too, he told himself without rancor.
In a few minutes he left the window, somewhat restored, and headed forthe shower. When it was running nicely and he was under it, he startedto sing. But his voice didn't sound as much like the voice of LauritzMelchior as it usually did, not even when he made a brave, iffoolhardy stab at the Melchior accent. Slowly, he began to realizethat he was bothered.
He climbed out of the shower and started drying himself. Up to now, hethought, he had depended on Dr. Thomas O'Connor for edifying,trustworthy and reasonably complete information about psionics and_psi_ phenomena in general. He had looked on O'Connor as a sort ofliving version of an extremely good edition of the _Britannica_,always available for reference.
And now O'Connor had failed him. That, Malone thought, was hardlyfair. O'Connor had no business failing him--particularly when therewas no place else to go.
The scientist had been right, of course, Malone knew. There was noother scientist who knew as much about psionics as O'Connor, and ifO'Connor said there were no books, then that was that: there were nobooks.
He reached for a drawer in his dresser, opened it and pulled out someunderclothes, humming tunelessly under his breath as he dressed. Ifthere was no one to ask, he thought, and if there were no books--
He stopped with a sock in his hand, and stared at it in wonder.O'Connor hadn't said there were no books. A
s a matter of fact, Malonerealized, he'd said exactly the opposite.
There were books. But they were "crackpot" books. O'Connor had neverread them. He had, he said, probably never even heard of many of them.
"Crackpot" was a fighting word to O'Connor. But to Malone it had allthe sweetness of flattery. After all, he'd found telepaths in insaneasylums, and teleports among the juvenile delinquents of New York."Crackpot" was a word that was rapidly ceasing to have any meaning