his psionic theory? Her
Majesty had told him about those peculiar bursts of metal energy,
true. But there wasn't anything else. And, come to think of it, wasn't
it possible that Her Majesty had slipped just a little off the trolley
of her one-track psychosis?

At that thought a quick wave of guilt swept through him. Her Majesty,
after all, might be reading his mind from Yucca Flats, where she had
returned the previous night, right at that moment. He felt as if he
had committed high, middle and low treason all in one great big
package, not to mention Jack and the Game, he added disconsolately.

"Nevertheless," he muttered, and stopped. He blinked and started over
again. In spite of all that, he told himself, the Burris Theory
certainly looked a lot sounder when you considered it objectively.

The big question was whether or not he _wanted_ to consider it
objectively. But he put this aside for the future, and continued
packing slowly and carefully. When at last he snapped shut the last
suitcase, he still hadn't made up his mind as to the best spot for a
vacation. Images tumbled through his brain: mountains, seacoasts,
beaches, beautiful native girls and even a few insane asylums. But
nothing definite appeared. He sat down in his favorite easychair,
found a cigar and lit it, and luxuriated in the soothing fumes while
his mind began to wander.

Her Majesty, he was quite certain, wouldn't lie purposely. Granted,
she had misled him now and again, but even when she felt misleading
necessary she hadn't lied; she had merely juggled the truth a little.
And Malone was sure she would continue to tell him the truth as she
knew it.

Of course, that was the stopper: _as she knew it_. And she might have
developed another delusion. In which case, he thought sadly, Burris
was very probably right.

But she might also be telling the actual truth. And that meant, Malone
thought, that little pops of energy were occasionally bursting in
various minds. These little pops had an effect, or an apparent effect:
they made people change their minds about doing one thing or another.

And that meant--Malone stopped, his cigar halfway to his mouth.

_Wasn't it possible that just such a burst of energy had made Burris
call him off the case?_

It seemed like a long time before the cigar reached his mouth. Malone
felt slightly appalled. The flashes that had been going on in his own
mind had already been bothering him, and he'd decided that he'