Supermind by Randall Garrett and Laurence M. Janifer (ereader manga txt) 📖

“Oh,” Lou said. “Oh, yes. I’ll be going back to New York. After all, Ken, I do have a living to make, such as it is, and Sir Lewis is expecting me.”

“I don’t know,” Malone said, “but it still sounds funny. A girl like you working for—well, for the Psychical Research people. Ghosts and ectoplasm and all that.”

Lou stepped back another pace. “Now, wait a minute,” she said. “You seemed to need their information, all right.”

“But that was—oh, well,” Malone said. “Never mind. Maybe I’m silly. It really doesn’t matter.”

“I guess it doesn’t, now,” she said. “Except that it does mean I’ve got to leave for New York almost at once.”

“Can you cut out that ‘almost’?” Malone said. “Because I’ve got to be there myself, and right away. If you hurry, we can get the same plane.”

“That would be great,” she said.

“Okay, then,” Malone said. “Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of reservations and everything.”

“My, my,” Lou said. “What it must be like to have all that pull and influence.”

“What?” Malone said.

Lou grinned. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing.”

“Then it’s all settled. I’ll take care of the reservations, and we’ll go in together,” Malone said.

“Fair enough,” Lou said, “my fine feathered Fed.”

Actually, it took Malone nearly three hours to get everything set in Washington for his New York departure. He had to make a verbal report to Andrew J. Burris first, and that consumed quite a lot of time, since Burris was alternately shocked, horrified, gleeful and confused about the whole trip, and spent most of his time interrupting Malone and crying out for God’s vengeance, mercy, justice or understanding.

Then Malone had to dictate a longer report for the written record. This didn’t take quite as long, since there were no interruptions, but by the time it was over he felt as if he were going out to become a Carthusian monk. He felt, as he rubbed his raw throat, that it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to take a nice vow of silence for awhile. He could write people little notes, and they would all treat him kindly and gently. He would be pointed out to strangers, and people would try to do him favors.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take the vow at once. During his absence, his desk log showed, several calls had come in, all of which had to be taken care of at once. Some of them dealt with evidence or statements from old cases, some were just nuisances. The most urgent was from Dr. O’Connor at Yucca Flats.

“If you’re not too busy,” O’Connor said in his icily polite tone, “I would like to have Miss Thompson back as soon as possible.” He sounded as if Malone had borrowed his scalpel.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Malone said carefully.

“There is a new series of tests,” O’Connor said, “on which I am now at work; the assistance of Miss Thompson would be invaluable to me at this time.”

After he’d hung up, Malone called Her Majesty at her Washington hotel. She was very glad of the chance to return to Yucca Flats, she said. There, Malone knew, she would be able to return to her accustomed dignity as Queen of the Greater English Commonwealth, a district which, in her mind, seemed to include the greater part of the Western world. On her present mission, she was plain Miss Thompson and, though the idea of going about incognito had its charms, it became a little dull after awhile. The adventuring was fine, although a little rougher than she’d thought it would be; the sight of the Queen’s Own FBI in action was still a powerful attraction for Her Majesty. But the peace and quiet and dignity of Her Own Royal Palace won out without too much trouble.

“Of course,” Malone said, “you’ll be on call in case I need you.”

“I am always in touch with my subjects,” Her Majesty said with dignity, “and most especially with you, Sir Kenneth. I shall so remain.”

And then there was a little paperwork to take care of. By the time Malone had finished, he would have been glad to teleport to New York on his own. But on reflection he decided that he would much rather travel with Lou, and hurried down to the airport.

By the time the plane landed at La Guardia, and they’d taken a ’copter to the East Side Terminal and a taxi to the big blue-aluminum-and-glass Ravell Building, Malone had reached a new decision. It would be nothing short of wonderful, he felt, if he could spend the rest of his life traveling around with Luba Garbitsch.

Of course, that name was something of a handicap. It was hardly a romantic one. He wondered, very briefly, whether or not “Luba Malone” were an improvement. But he buried the thought before it got any further. Enough, he told himself firmly, was enough.

“It’s been a nice trip,” Lou said. She, too, sounded subdued, as if she were thinking about something terribly serious.

“Great,” Malone said happily. “A wonderful trip.”

“I enjoyed being with you,” Lou said.

“Me, too,” Malone said. He paid off the taxi-driver and they got out at the corner. Malone went to the newsstand there and picked up a copy of the Post.

“That,” Lou said over his shoulder, “is one whole hell of a headline.”

It filled the entire page, four lines of thick black capitals: