<h2>VII</h2>
<p>Yucca Flats, Malone thought, certainly
deserved its name. It was about
as flat as land could get, and it contained
millions upon millions of useless
yuccas. Perhaps they were good
for something, Malone thought, but
they weren't good for <i>him</i>.</p>
<p>The place might, of course, have
been called Cactus Flats, but the cacti
were neither as big nor as impressive
as the yuccas.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/010.png" width-obs="430" height-obs="500" alt="" title="" /> "I knight thee Sir Andrew...."</div>
<p>Or was that yucci?</p>
<p>Possibly, Malone mused, it was
simply yucks.</p>
<p>And whatever it was, there were
millions of it. Malone felt he couldn't
stand the sight of another yucca. He
was grateful for only one thing.</p>
<p>It wasn't summer. If the Elizabethans
had been forced to drive in closed
cars through the Nevada desert in the
summertime, they might have started
a cult of nudity, Malone felt. It was
bad enough now, in what was supposed
to be winter.</p>
<p>The sun was certainly bright
enough, for one thing. It glared
through the cloudless sky and glanced
with blinding force off the road. Sir
Thomas Boyd squinted at it through
the rather incongruous sunglasses he
was wearing, while Malone wondered
idly if it was the sunglasses, or the
rest of the world, that was an anachronism.
But Sir Thomas kept his eyes
grimly on the road as he gunned the
powerful Lincoln toward the Yucca
Flats Labs at eighty miles an
hour.</p>
<p>Malone twisted himself around and
faced the women in the back seat. Past
them, through the rear window of the
Lincoln, he could see the second car.
It followed them gamely, carrying the
newest addition to Sir Kenneth Malone's
Collection of Bats.</p>
<p>"Bats?" Her Majesty said suddenly,
but gently. "Shame on you, Sir
Kenneth. These are poor, sick people.
We must do our best to help them—not
to think up silly names for them.
For shame!"</p>
<p>"I suppose so," Malone said wearily.
He sighed and, for the fifth time
that day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty
have any idea where our spy is
now?"</p>
<p>"Well, really, Sir Kenneth," the
Queen said with the slightest of hesitations,
"it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy
has certain laws, just like
everything else. After all, even a
game has laws. Being telepathic did
not help me to play poker—I still had
to learn the rules. And telepathy has
rules, too. A telepath can easily confuse
another telepath by using some
of those rules."</p>
<p>"Oh, fine," Malone said. "Well,
have you got into contact with his
mind yet?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," Her Majesty said happily.
"And my goodness, he's certainly
digging up a lot of information,
isn't he?"</p>
<p>Malone moaned softly. "But who
<i>is</i> he?" he asked after a second.</p>
<p>The Queen stared at the roof of
the car in what looked like concentration.
"He hasn't thought of his
name yet," she said. "I mean, at least
if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to
me. Really, Sir Kenneth, you have no
idea how difficult all this is."</p>
<p>Malone swallowed with difficulty.
"<i>Where</i> is he, then?" he said. "Can
you tell me that, at least? His location?"</p>
<p>Her Majesty looked positively desolated
with sadness. "I can't be sure,"
she said. "I really can't be exactly
sure just where he is. He does keep
moving around, I know that. But you
have to remember that he doesn't want
me to find him. He certainly doesn't
want to be found by the FBI ...
would you?"</p>
<p>"Your Majesty," Malone said, "I
<i>am</i> the FBI."</p>
<p>"Yes," the Queen said, "but suppose
you weren't? He's doing his best
to hide himself, even from me. It's
sort of a game he's playing."</p>
<p>"A game!"</p>
<p>Her Majesty looked contrite. "Believe
me, Sir Kenneth, the minute I
know exactly where he is, I'll tell you.
I promise. Cross my heart and hope
to die—which I can't, of course, being
immortal." Nevertheless, she made an
X-mark over her left breast. "All
right?"</p>
<p>"All right," Malone said, out of
sheer necessity. "O.K. But don't waste
any time telling me. Do it right away.
We've <i>got</i> to find that spy and isolate
him somehow."</p>
<p>"Please don't worry yourself, Sir
Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "Your
Queen is doing everything she can."</p>
<p>"I know that, Your Majesty," Malone
said. "I'm sure of it." Privately,
he wondered just how much even she
could do. Then he realized—for perhaps
the ten-thousandth time—that
there was no such thing as wondering
privately any more.</p>
<p>"That's quite right, Sir Kenneth,"
the Queen said sweetly. "And it's
about time you got used to it."</p>
<p>"What's going on?" Boyd said.
"More reading minds back there?"</p>
<p>"That's right, Sir Thomas," the
Queen said.</p>
<p>"I've about gotten used to it," Boyd
said almost cheerfully. "Pretty soon
they'll come and take me away, but I
don't mind at all." He whipped the
car around a bend in the road savagely.
"Pretty soon they'll put me with
the other sane people and let the bats
inherit the world. But I don't mind
at all."</p>
<p>"Sir Thomas!" Her Majesty said in
shocked tones.</p>
<p>"Please," Boyd said with a deceptive
calmness. "Just Mr. Boyd. Not
even Lieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant
Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if you prefer,
Tom."</p>
<p>"Sir Thomas," Her Majesty said,
"I really can't understand this sudden—"</p>
<p>"Then don't understand it," Boyd
said. "All I know is everybody's nuts,
and I'm sick and tired of it."</p>
<p>A pall of silence fell over the company.</p>
<p>"Look, Tom," Malone began at
last.</p>
<p>"Don't you try smoothing me
down," Boyd snapped.</p>
<p>Malone's eyebrows rose. "O.K.,"
he said. "I won't smooth you down.
I'll just tell you to shut up, to keep
driving—and to show some respect to
Her Majesty."</p>
<p>"I—" Boyd stopped. There was a
second of silence.</p>
<p>"<i>That's</i> better," Her Majesty said
with satisfaction.</p>
<p>Lady Barbara stretched in the back
seat, next to Her Majesty. "This is
certainly a long drive," she said.
"Have we got much farther to go?"</p>
<p>"Not too far," Malone said. "We
ought to be there soon."</p>
<p>"I ... I'm sorry for the way I
acted," Barbara said.</p>
<p>"What do you mean, the way you
acted?"</p>
<p>"Crying like that," Barbara said
with some hesitation. "Making an—absolute
idiot of myself. When that
other car—tried to get us."</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it," Malone
said. "It was nothing."</p>
<p>"I just—made trouble for you,"
Barbara said.</p>
<p>Her Majesty touched the girl on the
shoulder. "He's not thinking about
the trouble you cause him," she said
quietly.</p>
<p>"Of course I'm not," Malone told
her.</p>
<p>"But I—"</p>
<p>"My dear girl," Her Majesty said,
"I believe that Sir Kenneth is, at least
partly, in love with you."</p>
<p>Malone blinked. It was perfectly
true—even if he hadn't quite known
it himself until now. Telepaths, he
was discovering, were occasionally
handy things to have around.</p>
<p>"In ... love—" Barbara said.</p>
<p>"And you, my dear—" Her Majesty
began.</p>
<p>"Please, Your Majesty," Lady Barbara
said. "No more. Not just now."</p>
<p>The Queen smiled, almost to herself.
"Certainly, dear," she said.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>The car sped on. In the distance,
Malone could see the blot on the desert
that indicated the broad expanse
of Yucca Flats Labs. Just the fact that
it could be seen, he knew, didn't
mean an awful lot. Malone had been
able to see it for the past fifteen minutes,
and it didn't look as if they'd
gained an inch on it. Desert distances
are deceptive.</p>
<p>At long last, however, the main
gate of the laboratories hove into
view. Boyd made a left turn off the
highway and drove a full seven miles
along the restricted road, right up to
the big gate that marked the entrance
of the laboratories themselves. Once
again, they were faced with the army
of suspicious guards and security officers.</p>
<p>This time, suspicion was somewhat
heightened by the dress of the visitors.
Malone had to explain about six times
that the costumes were part of an FBI
arrangement, that he had not stolen
his identity cards, that Boyd's cards
were Boyd's, too, and in general that
the four of them were not insane, not
spies, and not jokesters out for a lark
in the sunshine.</p>
<p>Malone had expected all of that.
He went through the rigmarole wearily
but without any sense of surprise.
The one thing he hadn't been expecting
was the man who was waiting for
him on the other side of the
gate.</p>
<p>When he'd finished identifying
everybody for the fifth or sixth time,
he began to climb back into the car.
A familiar voice stopped him cold.</p>
<p>"Just a minute, Malone," Andrew
J. Burris said. He erupted from the
guardhouse like an avenging angel,
followed closely by a thin man, about
five feet ten inches in height, with
brush-cut brown hair, round horn-rimmed
spectacles, large hands and
a small Sir Francis Drake beard. Malone
looked at the two figures blankly.</p>
<p>"Something wrong, chief?" he said.</p>
<p>Burris came toward the car. The
thin gentleman followed him, walking
with an odd bouncing step that must
have been acquired, Malone thought,
over years of treading on rubber eggs.
"I don't know," Burris said when
he'd reached the door. "When I was
in Washington, I seemed to know—but
when I get out here in this desert,
everything just goes haywire." He
rubbed at his forehead.</p>
<p>Then he looked into the car.
"Hello, Boyd," he said pleasantly.</p>
<p>"Hello, chief," Boyd said.</p>
<p>Burris blinked. "Boyd, you look
like Henry VIII," he said with only
the faintest trace of surprise.</p>
<p>"Doesn't he, though?" Her Majesty
said from the rear seat. "I've noticed
that resemblance myself."</p>
<p>Burris gave her a tiny smile. "Oh,"
he said. "Hello, Your Majesty. I'm—"</p>
<p>"Andrew J. Burris, Director of the
FBI," the Queen finished for him.
"Yes, I know. It's very nice to meet
you at last. I've seen you on television,
and over the video phone. You
photograph badly, you know."</p>
<p>"I do?" Burris said pleasantly. It
was obvious that he was keeping himself
under very tight control.</p>
<p>Malone felt remotely sorry for the
man—but only remotely. Burris might
as well know, he thought, what they
had all been going through the past
several days.</p>
<p>Her Majesty was saying something
about the honorable estate of knighthood,
and the Queen's List. Malone
began paying attention when she
came to: "... And I hereby dub
thee—" She stopped suddenly, turned
and said: "Sir Kenneth, give me your
weapon."</p>
<p>Malone hesitated for a long, long
second. But Burris' eye was on him,
and he could interpret the look without
much trouble. There was only one
thing for him to do. He pulled out
his .44, ejected the remaining cartridge
in his palm—and reminded
himself to reload the gun as soon as
he got it back—and handed the weapon
to the Queen, butt foremost.</p>
<p>She took the butt of the revolver
in her right hand, leaned out the window
of the car, and said in a fine,
distinct voice: "Kneel, Andrew."</p>
<p>Malone watched with wide, astonished
eyes as Andrew J. Burris, Director
of the FBI, went to one knee
in a low and solemn genuflection.
Queen Elizabeth Thompson nodded
her satisfaction.</p>
<p>She tapped Burris gently on each
shoulder with the muzzle of the gun.
"I knight thee Sir Andrew," she said.
She cleared her throat. "My, this desert
air is dry—Rise, Sir Andrew, and
know that you are henceforth Knight
Commander of the Queen's Own
FBI."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Your Majesty," Burris
said humbly.</p>
<p>He rose to his feet silently. The
Queen withdrew into the car again and
handed the gun back to Malone. He
thumbed cartridges into the chambers
of the cylinder and listened dumbly.</p>
<p>"Your Majesty," Burris said, "this
is Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of
Project Isle. Dr. Gamble, this is Her
Majesty the Queen; Lady Barbara
Wilson, her ... uh ... her lady in
waiting; Sir Kenneth Malone; and
King ... I mean Sir Thomas Boyd."
He gave the four a single bright impartial
smile. Then he tore his eyes
away from the others, and bent his
gaze on Sir Kenneth Malone. "Come
over here a minute, Malone," he said,
jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"I want to talk to you."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>Malone climbed out of the car and
went around to meet Burris. He felt
just a little worried as he followed the
Director away from the car. True, he
had sent Burris a long telegram the
night before, in code. But he hadn't
expected the man to show up at Yucca
Flats. There didn't seem to be any
reason for it.</p>
<p>And when there isn't any reason,
Malone told himself sagely, it's a bad
one.</p>
<p>"What's the trouble, chief?" he
asked.</p>
<p>Burris sighed. "None so far," he
said quietly. "I got a report from the
Nevada State Patrol, and ran it
through R&I. They identified the men
you killed, all right—but it didn't
do us any good. They're hired
hoods."</p>
<p>"Who hired them?" Malone said.</p>
<p>Burris shrugged. "Somebody with
money," he said. "Hell, men like that
would kill their own grandmothers if
the price were right—you know that.
We can't trace them back any farther."</p>
<p>Malone nodded. That was, he had
to admit, bad news. But then, when
had he last had any good news?</p>
<p>"We're nowhere near our telepathic
spy," Burris said. "We haven't come
any closer than we were when we
started. Have you got anything? Anything
at all, no matter how small?"</p>
<p>"Not that I know of, sir," Malone
said.</p>
<p>"What about the little old lady ... what's
her name? Thompson. Anything
from her?"</p>
<p>Malone hesitated. "She has a close
fix on the spy, sir," he said slowly,
"but she doesn't seem able to identify
him right away."</p>
<p>"What else does she want?" Burris
said. "We've made her Queen and
given her a full retinue in costume;
we've let her play roulette and poker
with Government money. Does she
want to hold a mass execution? If
she does, I can supply some congressmen,
Malone. I'm sure it could be
arranged." He looked at the agent
narrowly. "I might even be able to
supply an FBI man or two," he added.</p>
<p>Malone swallowed hard. "I'm trying
the best I can, sir," he said.
"What about the others?"</p>
<p>Burris looked even unhappier than
usual. "Come along," he said. "I'll
show you."</p>
<p>When they got back to the car, Dr.
Gamble was talking spiritedly with
Her Majesty about Roger Bacon. "Before
my time, of course," the Queen
was saying, "but I'm sure he was a
most interesting man. Now when dear
old Marlowe wrote his 'Faust,' he
and I had several long discussions
about such matters. Alchemy—"</p>
<p>Burris interrupted with: "I beg
your pardon, Your Majesty, but we
must get on. Perhaps you'll be able
to continue your ... ah ... audience
later." He turned to Boyd. "Sir
Thomas," he said with an effort,
"drive directly to the Westinghouse
buildings. Over that way." He pointed.
"Dr. Gamble will ride with you,
and the rest of us will follow in the
second car. Let's move."</p>
<p>He stepped back as the project head
got into the car, and watched it roar
off. Then he and Malone went to the
second car, another FBI Lincoln. Two
agents were sitting in the back seat,
with a still figure between them.</p>
<p>With a shock, Malone recognized
William Logan and the agents he'd
detailed to watch the telepath. Logan's
face did not seem to have changed
expression since Malone had seen it
last, and he wondered wildly if perhaps
it had to be dusted once a
week.</p>
<p>He got in behind the wheel and
Burris slid in next to him.</p>
<p>"Westinghouse." Burris said. "And
let's get there in a hurry."</p>
<p>"Right," Malone said, and started
the car.</p>
<p>"We just haven't had a single
lead," Burris said. "I was hoping
you'd come up with something. Your
telegram detailed the fight, of course,
and the rest of what's been happening—but
I hoped there'd be something
more."</p>
<p>"There isn't," Malone was forced
to admit. "All we can do is try to
persuade Her Majesty to tell us—"</p>
<p>"Oh, I know it isn't easy," Burris
said. "But it seems to me—"</p>
<p>By the time they'd arrived at the
administrative offices of Westinghouse's
psionics research area, Malone
found himself wishing that something
would happen. Possibly, he thought,
lightning might strike, or an earthquake
swallow everything up. He was,
suddenly, profoundly tired of the entire
affair.</p>
<hr class="hrchp" />
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