Malone sat, quietly relaxed and almost completely at ease, in the
depths of a huge, comfortable, old-fashioned Morris chair. Three
similar chairs were clustered around a squat, massive coffee table,
made of a single slab of dark wood set on short, curved legs. Malone
looked around at the other three with a relaxed feeling of
recognition: Andrew J. Burris, Sir Lewis Carter and Luba Ardanko.
Sir Lewis softly exhaled a cloud of smoke as he removed the briar from
his mouth. "Malone," he asked gently, "how did you know we would be
here?"
"Well," Malone said, "I just ... I mean, it was obvious as soon as
I--" He stopped, frowning. "I had one thing to go on, anyway," he
said. "I figured out the PRS was responsible for all the troubles
because it was so efficient. And then, while I was sitting and staring
at the file reports, it suddenly came to me: the FBI was just as
efficient. So it was obvious."
"What was?" Burris said.
Malone shrugged. "I thought you'd been keeping me on vacation because
your mind was being changed," he said. "Now I can see you were doing
it of your own free will."
"Yes," Sir Lewis said. "But how did you know you'd find us _here_,
Malone?"
There was a shadow in the room, but not a visible one. Malone felt the
chill of sudden danger. Whatever was going to happen, he realized, he
would not be around for the finish. He, Kenneth Joseph Malone, the
cuddly, semi-intrepid FBI Agent he had always known and loved, would
never get out of this deadly situation. If he lived, he would be so
changed that--
He didn't even want to think about it.
"What sort of logic," Sir Lewis was saying, "led you to the belief
that we would all be here, in Andrew's house?"
Malone forced his mind to consider the question. "Well," he began, "it
isn't exactly logic, I guess."
Luba smiled at him. He felt a little reassured, but not much. "You
should have phrased that differently," she said. "It's: 'It isn't
exactly logic. I guess.'"
"Not guess," Sir Lewis said. "You know. Prescience, Malone. Your
precognitive faculty."
"All right," Malone said. "All right. So what?"
"Take it easy," Burris put in. "Relax, Malone. Everything's going to
be all right."
Sir Lewis waved a hand negligently. "Let's continue," he said. "Tell
me, Malone: if you were a mathematics professor, teaching a course in
calculus, how would you grade a paper that had all the answers but
didn't show the work?"
"I never took calculus," Malone said. "But I imagine I'd flunk him."
"Why?" Sir Lewis said.
"Because if he can't back up his answer," Malone said slowly, "then
it's no better than a layman's guess. He has to give reasons for his
answers; otherwise nobody else can understand him."
"Fine," Sir Lewis said. "Perfectly fine. Now--" he puffed at his
pipe--"can you give me a logical reason for arriving at the decision
you made a few hours ago?"
The danger was coming closer, Malone realized. He didn't know what it
was or how to guard himself against it. All he could do was answer,
and play for time.
"While I was driving up here," he said, "I sent you a message. I told
you what I knew and what I believed about the whole world picture as
it stands now. I don't know if you received it, but I--"
Luba spoke without the trace of a smile. "You mean you didn't know?"
she said. "You didn't know I was answering you?"
That was the first pebble of the avalanche, Malone knew suddenly--the
avalanche that was somehow going to destroy him. "You forced your
thoughts into my mind, then," he said as coolly as he could. "Just as
you forced decision on the rest of society."
"Now, dammit, Malone!" Burris said suddenly. "You know those bursts
take a lot of energy, and only last for a fraction of a second!"