Chapter 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.

The Queen stared at the roof of the car in what looked like concentration. “He hasn’t thought of his name yet,” she said. “I mean, at least, if he has, he hasn’t mentioned it to me. Really, Sir Kenneth, you have no idea how difficult all this is.”

Malone swallowed with difficulty.

“Where is he, then,” said. “Can you tell me that, at least? His location?”

Her Majesty looked positively desolated with sadness. “I can’t be sure,” she said. “I really can’t be exactly sure just where he is. He does keep moving around, I know that. But you have to remember that he doesn’t want me to find him. He certainly doesn’t want to be found by the FBI--would you?”

“Your Majesty,” Malone said, “I am the FBI.”

“Yes,” the Queen said, “but suppose you weren’t? He’s doing his best to hide himself, even from me. It’s sort of a game he’s playing.”

“A game!”

Her Majesty looked contrite. “Believe me, Sir Kenneth, the minute I know exactly where he is, I’ll tell you. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die--which I can’t, of course, being immortal.” Nevertheless, she made an X-mark over her left breast. “All right?”

“All right,” Malone said, out of sheer necessity. “Okay. But don’t waste any time telling me. Do it right away. We’ve got to find that spy and isolate him somehow.”

“Please don’t worry yourself, Sir Kenneth,” Her Majesty said. “Your Queen is doing everything she can.”

“I know that, Your Majesty,” Malone said. “I’m sure of it.” Privately, he wondered just how much even she could do. Then he realized--for perhaps the ten-thousandth time--that there was no such thing as wondering privately any more.

“That’s quite right, Sir Kenneth,” the Queen said sweetly. “And it’s about time you got used to it.”

“What’s going on?” Boyd said. “More reading minds back there?”

“That’s right, Sir Thomas,” the Queen said.

“I’ve about gotten used to it,” Boyd said almost cheerfully. “Pretty soon they’ll come and take me away, but I don’t mind at all.” He whipped the car around a bend in the road savagely. “Pretty soon they’ll put me with the other sane people and let the bats inherit the world. But I don’t mind at all.”

“Sir Thomas!” Her Majesty said in shocked tones.

“Please,” Boyd said with a deceptive calmness. “Just Mr. Boyd. Not even Lieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if you prefer, Tom.”

“Sir Thomas,” Her Majesty said, “I really can’t understand this sudden--”

“Then don’t understand it,” Boyd said. “All I know is everybody’s nuts, and I’m sick and tired of it.”

A pall of silence fell over the company.

“Look, Tom,” Malone began at last.

“Don’t you try smoothing me down,” Boyd snapped.

Malone’s eyebrows rose. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t smooth you down. I’ll just tell you to shut up, to keep driving--and to show some respect to Her Majesty.”

“I--” Boyd stopped. There was a second of silence.

“That’s better,” Her Majesty said with satisfaction.

Lady Barbara stretched in the back seat, next to Her Majesty. “This is certainly a long drive,” she said. “Have we got much farther to go?”

“Not too far,” Malone said. “We ought to be there soon.”

“I--I’m sorry for the way I acted,” Barbara said.

“What do you mean, the way you acted?”

“Crying like that,” Barbara said with some hesitation. “Making an-- absolute idiot of myself. When that other car--tried to get us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Malone said. “It was nothing.”

“I just--made trouble for you,” Barbara said.

Her Majesty touched the girl on the shoulder. “He’s not thinking about the trouble you cause him,” she said quietly.

“Of course I’m not,” Malone told her. “But I--”

“My dear girl,” Her Majesty said, “I believe that Sir Kenneth is, at least partly, in love with you.”

Malone blinked. It was perfectly true--even if he hadn’t quite known it himself until now. Telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionally handy things to have around.

“In ... love...” Barbara said.

“And you, my dear--” Her Majesty began.

“Please, Your Majesty,” Lady Barbara said. “No more. Not just now.”

The Queen smiled, almost to herself. “Certainly, dear,” she said.

The car sped on. In the distance, Malone could see the blot on the desert that indicated the broad expanse of Yucca Flats Labs. Just the fact that it could be seen, he knew, didn’t mean an awful lot. Malone had been able to see it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn’t look as if they’d gained an inch on it. Desert distances are deceptive.

At long last, however, the main gate of the laboratories hove into view. Boyd made a left turn off the highway and drove a full seven miles along the restricted road, right up to the big gate that marked the entrance of the laboratories themselves. Once again, they were faced with the army of suspicious guards and security officers.

This time, suspicion was somewhat heightened by the dress of the visitors. Malone had to explain about six times that the costumes were part of an FBI arrangement, that he had not stolen his identity cards, that Boyd’s cards were Boyd’s, too, and in general that the four of them were not insane, not spies, and not jokesters out for a lark in the sunshine.

Malone had expected all of that. He went through the rigmarole wearily but without any sense of surprise. The one thing he hadn’t been expecting was the man who was waiting for him on the other side of the gate.