Brain Twister | Page 5

fifty and sixty, tall and
thin with skin so transparent that he nearly looked like a living X- ray.
He had pale blue eyes and pale white hair, and, Malone thought, if
there ever were a contest for the best-looking ghost, Dr. Thomas
O'Connor would win it hands (or phalanges) down.
"This is all necessary for the national security," Burris said, a little
sternly.
"Oh," Dr. O'Connor said quickly. "I realize that, of course. Naturally. I
can certainly see that."
"Let's go ahead, shall we?" Burris said.
O'Connor nodded. "Certainly. Certainly."
Burris said: "Well, then," and paused. After a second he started again:
"Now, Dr. O'Connor, would you please give us a sort of verbal
rundown on this for our records?"
"Of course," Dr. O'Connor said. He smiled into the video cameras and
cleared his throat. "I take it you don't want an explanation of how this
machine works. I mean: you don't want a technical exposition, do
you?"
"No," Burris said, and added: "Not by any means. Just tell us what it

does."
Dr. O'Connor suddenly reminded Malone of a professor he'd had in
college for one of the law courses. He had, Malone thought, the same
smiling gravity of demeanor, the same condescending attitude of
absolute authority. It was clear that Dr. O'Connor lived in a world of
his own, a world that was not even touched by the common run of men.
"Well," he began, "to put it very simply, the device indicates whether
or not a man's mental--ah--processes are being influenced by outside--
by outside influences." He gave the cameras another little smile. "If you
will allow me, I will demonstrate on the machine itself."
He took two steps that carried him out of camera range, and returned
wheeling a large heavy-looking box. Dangling from the metal covering
were a number of wires and attachments. A long cord led from the box
to the floor and snaked out of sight to the left.
"Now," Dr. O'Connor said. He selected a single lead, apparently,
Malone thought, at random. "This electrode--"
"Just a moment, Doctor," Burris said. He was eyeing the machine with
a combination of suspicion and awe. "A while back you mentioned
something about 'outside influences.' Just what, specifically, does that
mean?"
With some regret, Dr. O'Connor dropped the lead. "Telepathy," he said.
"By outside influences, I meant influences on the mind, such as
telepathy or mind-reading of some nature."
"I see," Burris said. "You can detect a telepath with this machine."
"I'm afraid--"
"Well, some kind of a mind-reader anyhow," Burris said. "We won't
quarrel about terms."
"Certainly not," Dr. O'Connor said. The smile he turned on Burris was

as cold and empty as the inside of Orbital Station One. "What I meant
was--if you will permit me to continue--that we cannot detect any sort
of telepathy or mind-reader with this device. To be frank, I very much
wish that we could; it would make everything a great deal simpler.
However, the laws of psionics don't seem to operate that way."
"Well, then," Burris said, "what does the thing do?" His face wore a
mask of confusion. Momentarily, Malone felt sorry for his chief. He
could remember how he'd felt, himself, when that law professor had
come up with a particularly baffling question in class.
"This machine," Dr. O'Connor said with authority, "detects the slight
variations in mental activity that occur when a person's mind is being
read."
"You mean, if my mind were being read right now--"
"Not right now," Dr. O'Connor said. "You see, the bulk of this machine
is in Nevada; the structure is both too heavy and too delicate for
transport. And there are other qualifications--"
"I meant theoretically," Burris said.
"Theoretically--" Dr. O'Connor began, and smiled
again--"Theoretically, if your mind were being read, this machine
would detect it, supposing that the machine were in operating condition
and all of the other qualifications had been met. You see, Mr. Burris,
no matter how poor a telepath a man may be, he has some slight
ability--even if only very slight--to detect the fact that his mind is being
read."
"You mean, if somebody was reading my mind, I'd know it?" Burris
said. His face showed, Malone realized, that he plainly disbelieved this
statement.
"You would know it," Dr. O'Connor said, "but you would never know
you knew it. To elucidate: in a normal person--like you, for instance, or
even like myself--the state of having one's mind read merely results in a

vague, almost sub-conscious feeling of irritation, something that could
easily be attributed to minor worries, or fluctuations in one's hormonal
balance. The hormonal balance, Mr. Burris, is--"
"Thank you," Burris said with a trace of irritation. "I know what
hormones are."
"Ah. Good," Dr. O'Connor said equably. "In any case, to continue: this
machine