"Strait-jacket case," Burris said. "Delusions of persecution, they
tell me, and paranoia, and a whole lot of other things that sound
nasty as hell. I can't pronounce any of them, and that's always a bad
sign."
"Can he talk?" Malone said.
"Who knows?" Burris told him, and shrugged. "I'm sending him on out to
Yucca Flats anyhow, under guard. You might find a use for him."
"Oh, sure," Malone said. "We can use him as a horrible example.
Suppose he can't talk, or do anything? Suppose he turns violent?
Suppose--"
"We can't afford to overlook a thing," Burris said, looking stern.
Once again, Malone sighed deeply. "I know," he said. "But all the
same--"
"Don't worry about a thing, Malone," Burris said with a palpably false
air of confidence. "Everything is going to be perfectly all right." He
looked like a man trying very hard to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to a
born New Yorker. "You get this Queen Elizabeth of yours out of there
and take her to Yucca Flats, too," he added.
Malone considered the possibilities that were opening up. Maybe, after
all, they were going to find more telepaths. And maybe all the
telepaths would be nuts. When he thought about it, that didn't seem at
all unlikely. He imagined himself with a talent nobody would believe
he had.
A thing like that, he told himself glumly, could drive you buggy in
short order--and then where were you?
In a loony bin, that's where you were.
Or, possibly, in Yucca Flats. Malone pictured the scene: there they
would be, just one big happy family. Kenneth J. Malone, and a
convention of bats straight out of the nation's foremost loony bins.
Fun!
Malone began to wonder why he had gone into FBI work in the first
place.
"Listen, Chief," he said. "I--"
"Sure, I understand," Burris said quickly. "She's batty. And this new
one is batty, too. But what else can we do? Malone, don't do anything
you'll regret."
"Regret?" Malone said. "Like what?"
"I mean, don't resign."
"Chief, how did you know--you're not telepathic too, are you?"
"Of course not," Burris said. "But that's what I'd do in your place."
"Well--"
"Remember, Malone," Burris said. His face took on a stern, stuffed
expression. "Do not ask what your country can do for you," he quoted
the youngest living ex-President. "Ask rather what you can do for your
country."
"Sure," Malone said sadly.
"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Burris asked.
"What if it is?" Malone said. "It's still terrible. Everything is
terrible. Look at the situation."
"I am looking," Burris said. "And it's another New Frontier. Just like
it was when President Kennedy first said those words."
"A New Frontier inhabited entirely by maniacs," Malone said.
"Perfectly wonderful. What a way to run a world."
"That," Burris said, "is the way the ball bounces. Or whatever you're
supposed to say. Malone, don't think you haven't got my sympathy. You
have. I know how hard the job is you're doing."
"You couldn't," Malone told him bitterly.
"Well, anyhow," Burris went on, "don't resign. Stay on the job. Don't
give it up, Malone. Don't desert the ship. I want you to promise me
you won't do it."
"Look, chief," Malone said. "These nuts--"
"Malone, you've done a wonderful job so far," Burris said. "You'll get
a raise and a better job when all this is over. Who else would have
thought of looking in the twitch-bins for telepaths? But you did,
Malone, and I'm proud of you, and you're stuck with it. We've got to
use them now. We have to find that spy!" He took a breath. "On to
Yucca Flats!" he said.