Like all the other telepaths Malone and the rest of the FBI had found during their work in uncovering a telepathic spy, she had been located in an insane asylum. Months of extensive psychotherapy, including all the newest techniques and some so old that psychiatrists were a little afraid to use them, had done absolutely nothing to shake the firmest
conviction in the mind of Miss Rose Thompson.
She was, she insisted, Elizabeth Tudor, rightful Queen of England.
She claimed she was immortal—which was not true. She also claimed to be a telepath. This was perfectly accurate. It had been her help that had enabled Malone to find the telepathic spy, and a grateful government had rewarded her.
It had given her a special expense allotment for life, covering the clothing she wore, and the style in which she lived. Rooms had been set aside for her at Yucca Flats, and she held court there, sometimes being treated by psychiatrists and sometimes helping Dr. Thomas O'Connor in his experiments and in the development of new psionic machines.
She was probably the happiest psychotic on Earth.
Malone stared at her. For a second he could think of nothing to say but: "My God." He said it.
"Not at all, Sir Kenneth," the little old lady said. "Your Queen."
Malone took a deep breath. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he said.
"Good afternoon, Sir Kenneth," she said, and waited. After a second Malone figured out what she was waiting for.