"I was only asking," Lieutenant Adams said. "Can't blame a man for asking, now, can you?" Malone climbed into his front seat. "Call me later," he said. The car started. "Back to the hotel, Sir Thomas," Malone said, and the car roared off. 7 Yucca Flats, Malone thought, certainly deserved its name. It was about as flat as land could get, and it contained millions upon millions of useless yuccas. Perhaps they were good for something, Malone thought, but they weren't good for _him_. The place might, of course, have been called Cactus Flats, but the cacti were neither as big nor as impressive as the yuccas. Or was that yucci? Possibly, Malone mused, it was simply yucks. And whatever it was, there were millions of it. Malone felt he couldn't stand the sight of another yucca. He was grateful for only one thing. It wasn't summer. If the Elizabethans had been forced to drive in closed cars through the Nevada desert in the summertime, they might have started a cult of nudity, Malone felt. It was bad enough now, in what was supposed to be winter. The sun was certainly bright enough, for one thing. It glared through the cloudless sky and glanced with blinding force off the road. Sir Thomas Boyd squinted at it through the rather incongruous sunglasses he was wearing, while Malone wondered idly if it was the sunglasses, or the rest of the world, that was an anachronism. But Sir Thomas kept his eyes grimly on the road as he gunned the powerful Lincoln toward the Yucca Flats Labs at eighty miles an hour. Malone twisted himself around and faced the women in the back seat. Past them, through the rear window of the Lincoln, he could see the second car. It followed them gamely, carrying the newest addition to Sir Kenneth Malone's Collection of Bats. "Bats?" Her Majesty said suddenly, but gently. "Shame on you, Sir Kenneth. These are poor, sick people. We must do our best to help them--not to think up silly names for them. For shame!" "I suppose so," Malone said wearily. He sighed and, for the fifth time that day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty have any idea where our spy is now?" "Well, really, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said with the slightest of hesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy has certain laws, just like everything else. After all, even a game has laws. Being telepathic didn't help me to play poker--I still had to learn the rules. And telepathy has rules, too. A telepath can easily confuse another telepath by using some of those rules." "Oh, fine," Malone said. "Well, have you got into contact with his mind yet?" "Oh, yes," Her Majesty said happily. "And my goodness, he's certainly digging up a lot of information, isn't he?" Malone moaned softly. "But who _is_ he?" he asked after a second.