have, he reflected; his memory was pretty good.
Burris had been the first speaker on the tapes, and he'd given theserial and reference number in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. His facehad been perfectly blank, and he looked just like the head of the FBIpeople were accustomed to seeing on their TV and newsreel screens.Malone wondered what had happened to him between the time the tapeshad been made and the time he'd sent for Malone.
Maybe the whole notion of telepathy was beginning to get him, Malonethought.
Burris recited the standard tape-opening in a rapid mumble, like apriest involved in the formula of the Mass: "Any person or agentunauthorized for this tape please refrain from viewing further, underpenalties as prescribed by law." Then he looked off, out past thescreen to the left, and said: "Dr. Thomas O'Connor, of WestinghouseLaboratories. Will you come here, Dr. O'Connor?"
Dr. O'Connor came into the lighted square of screen slowly, lookingall around him. "This is very fascinating," he said, blinking in thelamplight. "I hadn't realized that you people took so manyprecautions--"
He was, Malone thought, somewhere between fifty and sixty, tall andthin with skin so transparent that he nearly looked like a living X-ray. He had pale blue eyes and pale white hair, and, Malone thought,if there ever were a contest for the best-looking ghost, Dr. ThomasO'Connor would win it hands (or phalanges) down.
"This is all necessary for the national security," Burris said, alittle sternly.
"Oh," Dr. O'Connor said quickly. "I realize that, of course.Naturally. I can certainly see that."
"Let's go ahead, shall we?" Burris said.
O'Connor nodded. "Certainly. Certainly."
Burris said: "Well, then," and paused. After a second he startedagain: "Now, Dr. O'Connor, would you please give us a sort of verbalrundown on this for our records?"
"Of course," Dr. O'Connor said. He smiled into the video cameras andcleared his throat. "I take it you don't want an explanation of howthis machine works. I mean: you don't want a technical exposition, doyou?"
"No," Burris said, and added: "Not by any means. Just tell us what itdoes."
Dr. O'Connor suddenly reminded Malone of a professor he'd had incollege for one of the law courses. He had, Malone thought, the samesmiling gravity of demeanor, the same condescending attitude ofabsolute authority. It was clear that Dr. O'Connor lived in a world ofhis own, a world that was not even touched by the common run of men.
"Well," he began, "to put it very simply, the device indicates whetheror not a man's mental--ah--processes are being influenced by outside--by outside influences." He gave the cameras another little smile. "Ifyou will allow me, I will demonstrate on the machine itself."
He took two steps that carried him out of camera range, and returnedwheeling a large heavy-looking box. Dangling from the metal coveringwere a number of wires and attachments. A long cord led from the boxto the floor and snaked out of sight to the left.
"Now," Dr. O'Connor said. He selected a single lead, apparently,Malone thought, at random. "This electrode--"
"Just a moment, Doctor," Burris said. He was eyeing the machine with acombination of suspicion and awe. "A while back you mentionedsomething about 'outside influences.' Just what, specifically, doesthat mean?"
With some regret, Dr. O'Connor dropped the lead. "Telepathy," he said."By outside influences, I meant influences on the mind, such astelepathy or mind-reading of some nature."
"I see," Burris said. "You can detect a telepath with this machine."
"I'm afraid--"
"Well, some kind of a mind-reader anyhow," Burris said. "We won'tquarrel about terms."
"Certainly not," Dr. O'Connor said. The smile he turned on Burris wasas cold and empty as the inside of Orbital Station One. "What I meantwas--if you will permit me to continue--that we cannot detect any sortof telepathy or mind-reader with this device. To be frank, I very muchwish that we could; it would make everything a great deal simpler.However, the laws of psionics don't seem to operate that way."
"Well, then," Burris said, "what does the thing do?" His face wore amask of confusion. Momentarily, Malone felt sorry for his chief. Hecould remember how he'd felt, himself, when that law professor hadcome up with a particularly baffling question in class.
"This machine," Dr. O'Connor said with authority, "detects the slightvariations in mental activity that occur when a person's mind is_being_ read."
"You mean, if my mind were being read right now--"
"Not right now," Dr. O'Connor said. "You see, the bulk of this machineis in Nevada; the structure is both too heavy and too delicate fortransport. And there are other qualifications--"
"I meant theoretically," Burris said.
"Theoretically--" Dr. O'Connor began, and smiledagain--"Theoretically, if your mind were being read, this machinewould detect it, supposing that the machine were in operatingcondition and all of the other qualifications had been met. You see,Mr. Burris, no matter how poor a telepath a man may be, he has someslight ability--even if only very slight--to detect the fact that hismind is being read."
"You mean, if somebody was reading my mind, I'd know it?" Burris said.His face showed, Malone realized, that he plainly disbelieved thisstatement.
"You would know it," Dr. O'Connor said, "but you would never know youknew it. To elucidate: in a normal person--like you, for instance, oreven like myself--the state of having one's mind read merely resultsin a vague, almost sub-conscious feeling of irritation, something thatcould easily be attributed to minor worries, or fluctuations in one'shormonal balance. The hormonal balance, Mr. Burris, is--"
"Thank you," Burris said with a trace of irritation. "I know whathormones are."
"Ah. Good," Dr. O'Connor said equably. "In any case, to continue: thismachine interprets those specific feelings as indications that themind is being--ah--'eavesdropped' upon."
You could almost see the quotation marks around what Dr. O'Connorconsidered slang dropping into place, Malone thought.
"I see," Burris said with a disappointed air. "But what do you mean,it won't detect a telepath? Have you ever actually worked with atelepath?"
"Certainly we have," Dr. O'Connor said. "If we hadn't, how would we beable to tell that the machine was, in fact, indicating the presence oftelepathy? The theoretical state of the art is not, at present,sufficiently developed to enable us to--"
"I see," Burris said hurriedly. "Only wait a minute."
"Yes?"
"You mean you've actually got a real mind-reader? You've found one?One that works?"
Dr. O'Connor shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I should have said, Mr.Burris, that we did once have one," he admitted. "He was,unfortunately, an imbecile, with a mental age between five and six, asnearly as we were ever able to judge."
"An imbecile?" Burris said. "But how were you able to--"
"He could repeat a person's thoughts word for word," Dr. O'Connorsaid. "Of course, he was utterly incapable of understanding themeaning behind them. That didn't matter; he simply repeated whateveryou were thinking. Rather disconcerting."
"I'm sure," Burris said. "But he was really an imbecile? There wasn'tany chance of--"
"Of curing him?" Dr. O'Connor said. "None, I'm afraid. We did at onetime feel that there had been a mental breakdown early in the boy'slife, and, indeed, it's perfectly possible that he was normal for thefirst year or so. The records we did manage to get on that period,however, were very much confused, and there was never any way oftelling anything at all, for certain. It's easy to see what caused theconfusion, of course: telepathy in an imbecile is rather an oddity--and any normal adult would probably be rather hesitant about admittingthat he was capable of it. That's why we have not found anothersubject; we must merely sit back and wait for lightning to strike."
Burris sighed. "I see your problem," he said. "But what happened tothis imbecile boy of yours?"
"Very sad," Dr. O'Connor said. "Six months ago, at the age of fifteen,the boy simply died. He simply--gave up, and died."
"Gave up?"
<
br /> "That was as good an explanation as our medical department was able toprovide, Mr. Burris. There was some malfunction--but--we like to saythat he simply gave up. Living became too difficult for him."
"All right," Burris said after a