"My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I am not a child. I am your sovereign. Do try to have a little respect. Why, I remember when Shakespeare used to say to me--but that's no matter, not now." "About those telepaths--" Boyd began. "Telepaths," Her Majesty said. "Ah, yes. We must all stick together. In the hospital, you know, we had a little joke--the patients for Insulin Shock Therapy used to say: 'If we don't stick together, we'll all be stuck separately.' Do you see, Sir Thomas?" "But," Sir Kenneth Malone said, trying desperately to return to the point. _"Six?"_ He had counted them up in his mind. Burris had mentioned one found in St. Elizabeths, and two more picked up later. With Queen Elizabeth, and now William Logan, that made five. Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reason why not. "Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you, Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles." Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?" "That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your FBI men found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to Yucca Flats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?" Lady Barbara cleared her throat. "It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear," the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking." Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about that nap--" she began. "My dear girl," the Queen said, with the faintest trace of impatience, "I do not feel the least bit tired, and this is such an exciting day that I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told you I don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen--no matter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn to understand that, dear." Lady Barbara opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it once more. "My goodness," she said. "That's the idea," Her Majesty said approvingly. "Think before you speak--and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I know what you're thinking." Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath--this Barry Miles. Did they find him--" "In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, Sir Kenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths went insane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, and because no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed you could see?" "Strange," Malone admitted. "There," Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane--it's sort of an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane." "Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps they would turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational. "There's me, of course," Her Majesty said. Lady Barbara gulped audibly. Boyd said nothing, but gripped the wheel of the car more tightly. And Malone thought to himself: _That's right. There's Queen Elizabeth--who says she isn't crazy._