er couldn't."

"Mike was an experiment," Sir Lewis said. "We decided to teach him
teleportation without teaching him telepathy. You saw what happened."

"Sure I did," Malone said. "I had to stop it."

"We were forced to make you stop him," Sir Lewis said. "But we also
let him teach you his abilities."

"So I'm an experiment," Malone said.

"A successful experiment," Sir Lewis added.

"Well," Malone said dully, "bully for me."

"Don't feel that way," Sir Lewis said. "We have--"

He stopped suddenly, and glanced at the others. Burris and Lou stood
up, and Sir Lewis followed them.

"Sorry," Sir Lewis said in a different tone. "There's something
important that we must take care of. Something quite urgent, I'm
afraid."

"You can go on home, Malone," Burris said. "We'll talk later, but
right now there's a crisis coming and we've got to help. Leave the
car. I'll take care of it."

"Sure," Malone said, without moving.

Lou said, "Ken--" and stopped. Then the three of them turned and
started up the long, curving staircase that led to the upstairs rooms.

Malone sat in the Morris chair for several long minutes, wishing that
he were dead. Nobody made a sound. He rubbed his hands over the soft
leather and tried to tell himself that he was lucky, and talented, and
successful.

But he didn't care.

He closed his eyes at last, and took a deep breath.

Then he vanished.

16

Two hours passed, somehow. Bourbon and soda helped them pass, Malone
discovered; he drank two highballs slowly, trying not to think about
anything, and kept staring around at the walls of his apartment
without really seeing anything. He felt terrible.

He made himself a third bourbon and soda and started in on it. Maybe
this one would make him feel better. Maybe, he thought, he ought to
break out the cigars and celebrate.

But there didn't seem to be very much to celebrate, somehow.

He felt like a guinea pig being congratulated on having successfully
resisted a germ during an experiment.

He drank some more of the bourbon and soda. Guinea pigs didn't drink
bourbon and soda, he told himself. He was better off than a guinea
pig. He was happier than a guinea pig. But he couldn't imagine any
guinea pig in the world, no matter how heartbroken, feeling any worse
than Kenneth J. Malone.

He looked up. There was another guinea pig in the room.

Then he frowned. She wasn't a guinea pig. She was one off the
experimenters. She was the one t