For all of that time, however, she had been a genuine telepath. She had been discovered during the course of Malone’s first psionic case, and by now she had even learned to teleport by “reading” the process in Malone’s mind. “Good afternoon, Sir Kenneth,” she said in a regal, kindly voice. She was mad, he knew, but her delusion was nicely kept within bounds. All of her bright world hinged on the single fact that she was unshakably certain of her royalty. As long as the FBI catered to that notion—which included a Royal dwelling for her in Yucca Flats, and the privilege of occasionally knighting FBI agents who had pleased her unpredictable fancy—she was perfectly rational on all other points. She co-operated with Dr. O’Connor and with the FBI in the investigation of her psionic powers, and she had given her Royal word not to teleport except at Malone’s personal request. “I’d like to talk to you,” Malone said, “Your Majesty.” There was an odd note in the Queen’s voice, and an odd, haunted expression on her face. “I’ve been hoping you’d ask me to come,” she said. “I had a hunch you were following me telepathically,” Malone said. “Can you give me any help?” “I—I really don’t know,” she said. “It’s something new, and something disturbing. I’ve never come across anything like it before.” “Like what?” Malone asked. “It’s the—” She made a gesture that conveyed nothing at all to Malone. “The—the static,” she said at last. Malone blinked. “Static?” he said. “Yes,” she said. “You’re not telepathic, so I can’t tell you what it’s really like. But—well, Sir Kenneth, have you ever seen disturbance on a TV screen, when there’s some powerful electric output nearby? The bright, senseless snowstorms, the meaningless hash?” “Sure,” Malone said. “It’s like that,” she said. “It’s a sudden, meaningless, disturbing blare of telepathic energy.” The telephone rang once. Malone ignored it. “What’s causing these disturbances?” he asked. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Sir Kenneth. I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t pick up a person’s mind over a distance unless I know him, and I can’t see what’s causing this at all. It’s—frankly, Sir Kenneth, it’s rather terrifying.” The phone rang again. “How long have you been experiencing this disturbance?” Malone asked. He looked at the phone. “The telephone isn’t important,” Her Majesty said. “It’s only Sir Thomas, calling to tell you he’s arrested three spies, and that doesn’t matter at all.” “It doesn’t?” “Not at all,” Her Majesty said. “What does matter is that I’ve only been picking up these flashes since you were assigned to this new case, Sir Kenneth. And....” She paused. “Well?” Malone said. “And they only appear,” Her Majesty said, “when I’m tuned to _your_ mind!” 5 Malone stared. He tried to say something but he couldn’t find any words. The telephone rang again and he pushed the switch with a sense of relief. The beard-fringed face of Thomas Boyd appeared on the screen.