When he opened his eyes, he was in O’Connor’s office, standing in front of the scientist’s wide desk. He hoped nobody had been looking into the phone booth at the instant he had disappeared, but he was reasonably sure he’d been unobserved. People didn’t go around peering into phone booths, after all, and he had seen no one. O’Connor looked up without surprise. “Ah,” he said. “Sit down, Mr. Malone.” Malone looked around for the chair, which was an uncomfortably straight-backed affair, and sat down in it gingerly. Remembering past visits to O’Connor, he was grateful for even the small amount of relaxation the hard wood afforded him. O’Connor had only recently unbent to the point of supplying a spare chair in his office for visitors, and, apparently, especially for Malone. Perhaps, Malone thought, it was more gratitude for the lovely specimens. Malone still felt uncomfortable, but tried bravely not to show it. He felt slightly guilty, too, as he always did when he popped into O’Connor’s office without bothering to stay space-bound. By law, after all, he knew he should check in and out at the main gate of the huge, ultra-top-secret Government reservation whenever he visited Yucca Flats. But that meant wasting a lot of time and going through a lot of trouble. Malone had rationalized it out for himself that way, and had gotten just far enough to do things the quick and easy way and not quite far enough to feel undisturbed about it. After all, he told himself grimly, anything that saved time and trouble increased the efficiency of the FBI, so it was all to the good. He swallowed hard. “Dr. O’Connor—” he began. O’Connor looked up again. “Yes?” he said. He’d had plenty of practice in watching people appear and disappear, between Malone and the specimens Malone had brought him; he was beyond surprise or shock by now. “I came here to talk to you,” Malone began again. O’Connor nodded, a trifle impatiently. “Yes,” he said. “I know that.” “Well—” Malone thought fast. Presenting the case to O’Connor was impossible; it was too complicated, and it might violate governmental secrecy somewhere along the line. He decided to wrap it up in a hypothetical situation. “Doctor,” he said, “I know that all the various manifestations of the _psi_ powers were investigated and named long before responsible scientists became interested in the subject.” “That,” O’Connor said with some reluctance, “is true.” He looked sad, as if he wished they’d waited on naming some of the psionic manifestations until he’d been born and started investigating them. Malone tried to imagine a person doing something called O’Connorizing, and decided he was grateful for history. “Well, then—” he said.