Sight Gag
Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
SIGHT GAG
BY LARRY M. HARRIS
Intelligence is a great help in the evolution-by-survival--but intelligence without muscle is even less useful than muscle without brains. But it's so easy to forget that muscle--plain physical force--is important, too!
ILLUSTRATED BY SCHOENHERR
* * * * *
Downstairs, the hotel register told Fredericks that Mr. John P. Joneswas occupying Room 1014. But Fredericks didn't believe the register.He knew better than that. Wherever his man was, he wasn't in Room1014. And whoever he was, his real name certainly wasn't John P.Jones. "P for Paul," Fredericks muttered to himself. "Oh, the helpfulsuperman, the man who knows better, the man who does better."
Fredericks had first known of him as FBI Operative 71-054P, under thename of William K. Brady. "And what does the K stand for?" Fredericksmuttered, remembering. "Killer?" Brady wouldn't be the man's realname, either. FBI Operatives had as many names as they had jobs, thatmuch was elementary. Particularly operatives like Jones-Brady-X."Special talents," Fredericks muttered. "Psi powers," he said, makingit sound like a curse. "Superman."
Upstairs, in Room 1212, the superman sat in a comfortable chair andtried to relax. He wasn't a trained telepath but he could read surfacethoughts if there were enough force behind them, and he could read thered thoughts of the man downstairs. They worried him more than hewanted to admit, and for a second he considered sending out a call forhelp. But that idea died before it had been truly born.
Donegan had told him he could handle the situation. Without weapons,forbidden to run, faced by a man who wanted only his death, he couldhandle the situation.
Sure he could, he thought bitterly.
Of course, if he asked for reinforcements he would undoubtedly getthem. The FBI didn't want one of its Psi Operatives killed; thereweren't enough to go round as it was. But calling for help, whenDonegan had specifically told him he wouldn't need it, would meanbeing sent back a grade automatically. A man of his rank andexperience, Donegan had implied, could handle the job solo. If hecouldn't--why, then, he didn't deserve the rank. It was all verysimple.
Unfortunately, he was still fresh out of good ideas.
The notion of killing Fredericks--using his telekinetic powers tocollapse the hotel room on the man, or some such, even if he wasn'tallowed to bear arms--had occurred to him in a desperate second, andDonegan had turned it down very flatly. "Look," the Psi Section chiefhad told him, "you got the guy's brother and sent him up for trial.The jury found him guilty of murder, first degree, no recommendationfor mercy. The judge turned him over to the chair, and he fries nextweek."
"So let Fredericks take it out on the judge and jury," he'd said. "Whydo I have to be the sitting duck?"
"Because ... well, from Fredericks' point of view, without you hisbrother might never have been caught. It's logic--of a sort."
"Logic, hell," he said. "The guy was guilty. I had to send him up.That's my job."
"And so is this," Donegan said. "That's our side of it. Frederickshas friends--his brother's friends. Petty criminals, would-becriminals, unbalanced types. You know that. You've read the record."
"Read it?" he said. "I dug up half of it."
Donegan nodded. "Sure," he said. "And we're going to have six morecases like Fredericks' brother--murder, robbery, God knows whatelse--unless we can choke them off somehow."
"Crime prevention," he said. "And I'm in the middle."
"That's the way the job is," Donegan said. "We're not superman. We'vegot limits, just like everybody else. Our talents have limits."
He nodded. "So?"
"So," Donegan said, "we've got to convince Fredericks' friends--theunbalanced fringe--that we are supermen, that we have no limits, thatno matter what they try against us they're bound to fail."
"Nice trick," he said sourly.
"Very nice," Donegan said. "And what's more, it works. Nobody exceptan out-and-out psychotic commits a crime when he hasn't got a hope ofsuccess. And these people aren't psychotics; most criminals aren't.Show them they can't get away with a thing--show them we'reinfallible, all-knowing, all-powerful supermen--and they'll be scaredoff trying anything."
"But killing Fredericks would do that just as well--" he began.
Donegan shook his head. "Now, hold on," he said. "You're getting allworked up about this. It's your first time with this stakeoutbusiness, that's all. But you can't kill him. You can't kill exceptwhen really necessary. You know that."
"All right. But if he's going to kill me--"
"That doesn't make it necessary, not this time," Donegan said. "Thisvengeance syndrome doesn't last forever, you know. Block it, andyou're through with it. And think how much more effective it is,letting Fredericks go back alive to tell the tale."
"Think how much more effective it would be," he said, "if Fredericksmanaged to get me."
"He won't," Donegan said.
"But without weapons--"
"No Psi Operative carries weapons," Donegan said. "We don't need them.We're supermen ... remember?"
He twisted his face with a smile. "Easy for you to talk about it," hesaid. "But I'm going to have to go out and face it--"
"We've all faced it," Donegan said. "When I was an Operative I wentthrough it, too. It's part of the job."
"But--"
"And I'm not going to tell you how to do the job," Donegan went onfirmly. "Either you know that by now, or you don't belong here."
He got up to leave, slowly. "It's a fine way to find out," he saidmournfully.
Donegan rose, too. "Good luck," he said. And meant it, too.
That was the chief for you, he thought. Send you out into God knowswhat with no weapons, no instructions, lots of help planted for theman who wanted to kill you--and then wish you good luck at the end ofit.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn't go in for some nice, peaceful jobof work--like rocket testing, for instance.
* * * * *
Fredericks, downstairs, was deciding to do things the subtle way. Theman upstairs--Jones, Brady or whatever his name was--deserved what hewas going to get. Psi powers were all very well, but there weredefenses against them. Briefly he thought of the man who'd sold himthe special equipment, and wondered why more criminals didn't know theequipment existed. It worked; he was sure of that. Fredericks knewenough of general psi theory to know when somebody was handing him asnow job. And the equipment was no snow job.
A force shield, that was the basic thing. A shield with no points ofentrance for anything larger than air molecules. Sight and sound couldget through, because the shield was constructed to allow selectedvibrations and frequencies. But no psi force could crack the shield.
Fredericks has sat through a long explanation. Psi wasn't a physicalforce; it was more like the application of a mental "set," in themathematical sense, to the existing order. But it could be detected byspecially built instruments--and a shield could be set up behind whichno detection was possible. It wasn't accurate to say that a psi forcewas blocked by the shield; no construct can block that which has noreal physical existence. It was, more simply, that the shield createda framework inside of which the universe existed in the absence ofpsi.
That wasn't very clear, either, Fredericks thought; but mathematicswas the only adequate language for talking about psi, any
how. It hadbeen the theory of sets that had led to the first ideas of structureand rationality within the field, and the math had gottenprogressively more complex ever since.
Psi couldn't get through the shield, at any rate; that was quitecertain. And very little else could get in, or out. There was only onepoint of exit. Unholstering his gun and aiming it automatically keyedthe shield to allow passage of a bullet, and the point of exit wascontrolled by the gun's