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 theevolution-by-survival—but intelligence without muscle iseven less useful than muscle without brains. But it's soeasy to forget that muscle—plain physical force—isimportant, too!
ILLUSTRATED BY SCHOENHERR
ownstairs, 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