"I want to hear this fairy tale you're about to publish in the name of
'Theory'," Melrose said. "I want to see this famous Farm of yours up in
Connecticut and see for myself how much pressure these experimental
controls you keep talking about will actually bear. But mostly, I want
to see just what in psionic hell you're so busy making yourself an
Authority about." There was no laughter in the man's sharp brown eyes.
"You couldn't touch me with a ten foot pole at this conference,"
snapped Lessing.
The other man grinned. "Try me! We shook you up a little bit last year,
but you didn't seem to get the idea."
"Last year was different." Lessing scowled. "As for our 'fairy tale',
we happen to have a staggering body of evidence that says that it's
true."
"If the papers you've already published are a preview, we think it's
false as Satan."
"And our controls are above suspicion."
"So far, we haven't found any way to set up logical controls," said
Melrose. "We've done a lot of work on it, too."
"Oh, yes--I've heard about your work. Not bad, really. A little
misdirected, is all."
"According to your Theory, that is."
"Wildly unorthodox approach to psionics--but at least you're energetic
enough."
"We haven't been energetic enough to find an orthodox approach that got
us anywhere. We doubt if you have, either. But maybe we're all wrong."
Melrose grinned unpleasantly. "We're not unreasonable, your Majesty. We
just ask to be shown. If you dare, that is."
Lessing slammed his fist down on the desk angrily. "Have you got the
day to take a trip?"
"I've got 'til New Year."
Lessing shouted for his girl. "Get Dorffman up here. We're going to the
Farm this afternoon."