"Yes, but not very accurately," I said. "In hypnosis, you need some sort of visual or auditory accompaniment. With telenosis, you can gain control of a person's mind directly, through the brain waves." "You say 'gain control of a person's mind,'" Newell said. "Do you mean that if you tell someone who is under telenosis to do something, he's got to do it?" * * * * * "Not necessarily," I said. "All you can do with telenosis is transmit thoughts to a person--counting visual and auditory sensations as thoughts. If you can convince him that the thoughts you're sending are _his_ thoughts ... then you can make him do almost anything. But if he knows or suspects he's being telenized--" "I'm with you," Newell interrupted. "He still gets the thoughts--visions and sounds or what have you--but he doesn't have to obey them." I nodded. My mind was skipping ahead to more immediate problems. "Don't you suppose we ought to notify Central Investigation Division right away? This is really a problem for them." But Newell was there ahead of me. "So was the Memphis affair," he said. I raised my eyebrows. "Meaning," the boss continued, "that I'd like to give your hunch a play first." "But it's not even a hunch," I objected. "How?" "Well, by having you interview Grogan, for instance...." I opened my mouth and almost shook my head, but Newell hurried on. "Look, Earl, it's been a long time since Intergalaxy has scored a good news beat. Not since the Memphis exposé, in fact. Remember that? Remember how good it felt to have your name on articles published all over the world? Remember all the extra cash? The fame?" I grunted. "Now before you say anything," Newell said, "remember that when you started on that case you didn't have a thing more concrete to go on than you have right now--just a half a hunch. Isn't that right? Admit it!" "M'm." "Well, isn't it worth a chance? What can we lose?" "Me, maybe. But...." The boss said nothing more. He knew that if he let me do the talking, I'd soon argue myself into it. Which I did. Five minutes later, I shrugged. "Okay. What, specifically, do you have in mind?" "Let's go back to the office," Newell said. * * * * * It was just a short walk. Or, I should say, it would have been a short walk, if we had walked. But New York was one of the very last cities to convert to the "level" transportation system. It had been one hell of an engineering feat, but for Amerpean ingenuity and enterprise nothing is impossible, so the job had finally been tackled and completed just within the past year. And the novelty of the ambulator bands on pedestrian levels was still strong for native New Yorkers. So instead of leaving the restaurant on the vehicle level, where we happened to be, and taking an old fashioned sidewalk stroll to the IGN building, Newell insisted on taking the escalator up to the next level and then gliding along on an amband.