"Very well," Sir Lewis said. "Now, among the various people of the world who have, through one necessity or another, managed to develop such shields--" Burris broke in impatiently. His words rang, and then echoed in the old house. "Some fool," he said flatly, "was going to start the Last War." * * * * * "So you had to stop it," Malone said after a long second. "But I still don't see--" "Of course you don't," Sir Lewis said. "But you've got to understand why you don't see it first." "Because I'm stupid," Malone said. Luba was shaking her head. Malone turned to face her. "Not stupid," she said. "But some people, Kenneth, have certain talents. Others have--other talents. There's no way of equating these talents; all are useful, each performs a different function." "And my talent," Malone said, "is stupidity. But--" She lit a cigarette daintily. "Not at all," she said. "You've done a really tremendous job, Kenneth. I was trained ever since I was a baby to use my psionic abilities--the PRS has known how to train children in that line ever since 1970. Only Mike Fueyo developed a system for instruction independently; the boy was, and is, a genius, as you've noticed." "Agreed," Malone said. "But--" "You, however," Luba said, "have the distinction of being the first human being who has, as an adult, achieved his full powers without childhood training. In addition, you're the only human being who has ever developed to the extent you have--in precognition, too." She puffed on the cigarette. Malone waited. "But what you don't have," she said at last, very carefully, "is the ability to reason out the steps you've taken, after you've reached the proper conclusion." "Like the calculus student," Malone said. "I flunk." Something inside him grated over the marrow in his bones. It was as though someone had decided that the best cure for worry was coarse emery in the joints, and he, Kenneth J. Malone, had been picked for the first experiment. "You're not flunking," Luba said. "You're a very long way from flunking, Kenneth." Burris cleared his throat suddenly. Malone turned to him. The Head of the FBI stuck an unlighted cigar into his mouth, chewed it a little, and then said: "Malone, we've been keeping tabs on you. Your shield was unbreakable--but we have been able to reach the minds of people you've talked to: Mike Sands, Primo Palveri, and so on. And Her Majesty, of course: you opened up a gap in your shield to talk to her, and you haven't closed it down. Until you started broadcasting here on the way up, naturally." "All right," Malone said, waiting with as much patience as possible for the point.