"Eight." Dr. O'Connor's smile grew perceptibly warmer. It now stood at about thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. "That is really excellent, Mr. Malone. You have done a fine job."
"Thanks," Malone muttered. He wished that O'Connor didn't make him feel quite so much like a first-year law student talking to an egomaniacal professor.
"When can you deliver them?" O'Connor said.
"Well," Malone said carefully, "that depends." O'Connor seemed to view the teleports as pieces of equipment, he thought. "I can't deliver them until I catch them," he said. "And that's why I wanted to talk to you."
"Some slight delay," Dr. O'Connor said, "will be quite understandable." His face left no doubt that he didn't like the necessity of understanding anything that was going to keep him and the eight teleports apart for even thirty seconds longer, now that he knew about them.
"You see," Malone said, "they're kids. Juvenile delinquents, or something like that. But they are teleports, that's for sure."
"I see," Dr. O'Connor said.
"So we've got to nab them," Malone said. "And for that I need all the information I can get."
Dr. O'Connor nodded slowly. "I'll be happy," he said, "to give you any information I can provide."
Malone took a deep breath, and plunged. "How does this teleportation bit work, anyhow?" he said.