alled, odd bulges
beneath the left armpits of the guides. "Protection from what?" he
asked, keeping a firm, loving grip on the bill. "There are a lot more
guides than you'd expect, aren't there?"

The bellman shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "Well, sir," he said
at last in an uneasy manner, "I guess it's because of the politics
around here. I mean, it's sort of confused."

"Confused how?" Malone said, waving the bill ever so slightly.

The bellman appeared to be hypnotized by its green color. "It's the
governor shooting himself," he said at last. "And the Legislature
wants to impeach the Lieutenant-governor, and the City Council of Las
Vegas is having trouble with the Mayor, and the County Sheriff is
having a feud with the State Police, and--Sir, it's all sort of
confused right now. But it isn't serious." He grinned hopefully.

Malone sighed and let go of the ten. It stayed fluttering in the air
for perhaps a tenth of a second, and disappeared. "I'm sure it isn't,"
Malone said. "Just forget I asked you."

The bellman's hand went to his pocket and came out again empty. "Asked
me, sir?" he said. "Asked me what?"

* * * * *

The next fifteen minutes were busy ones. Malone made himself quickly
at home, keeping his eyes open for hidden TV cameras or other forms of
bugging. Satisfied at last that he was entirely alone, he took a deep
breath, closed his eyes and teleported himself to Yucca Flats.

[Illustration]

This time, he didn't land in Dr. O'Connor's office. Instead, he opened
his eyes in the hallway in the nearby building that housed the
psychologists, psychiatrists and psychotherapists who were working
with the telepaths Malone and the FBI had unearthed two years before.

Apparently, telepathy was turning out to be more a curse than a
blessing. Of the seven known telepaths in the world, only Her Majesty
retained anything like the degree of sanity necessary for
communication. The psych men who were working with the other six had
been trying to establish some kind of rapport, but their efforts so
far had been as fruitless as a petrified tree.

Malone went down the hallway until he came to a door near the end. He
looked at the sign painted on the opaqued glass for a second:

ALAN MARSHALL, M.D.
CHIEF OF STAFF
PSYCHOLOGY DEPARTMENT

With a slight sigh, he pushed open the door and went in.

Dr. Marshall was a tall, baldin