Sight Gag, Page 2
Mark Clifton
aiming. It was efficient and simple to handle.
But Fredericks wasn't depending on the shield alone. There was abinder field, too--a field which linked him to the surrounding area,quite tightly. That took care of the chance that the Psi Operativewould try to pick him up, force shield and all, and throw him out awindow or through the roof. With the binder field in operation, no psiforce could move him an inch.
A plug gas mask, too, inserted into the nostrils. The shield plus themask's pack held two hours' worth of air--just in case the PsiOperative tried to throw poisonous molecules through the forceshield, or deprive him of oxygen.
And then there was the blindfold. Such a simple thing, and soeffective.
* * * * *
Upstairs, the Psi Operative caught the sequence of thoughts. Did theFBI have to do such a thorough job, he wondered bitterly. Theequipment, he knew, would do everything Fredericks thought it woulddo. It was important that Fredericks go up against the Operativethinking he was completely protected--in that way his final defeatwould be most effective. He'd have guarded against every possiblefailure--so, when he failed, there would be nothing to explain it.
Except the "fact" that the Psi Operatives were supermen.
He gritted his teeth. It would be nice, he reflected, to be a realsuperman. But any talent has its limits. And, even allowing for that,only Donegan and a very few others could handle the full theoreticalpotentials of their talents. In theory, a telekineticist could moveany object with his mind that he could move with his hands. That was arough rule of thumb, but it worked. The larger objects were barred bysheer mass; no matter what kind of force you're using, there's a limitto how much of it you can apply.
The smaller objects--molecules, electrons, photons--simply tookpractice and training. First the object had to be visualized, and thegeneral structure memorized. Then the power had to be controlledcarefully enough so that you moved just what you wanted to move andnot, for instance, shift the Empire State Building while trying tolift a molecule out of its topmast.
It was possible, in theory, to create full sensory hallucinations byjuggling electron streams and molecules within the brain. Butmemorizing the entire structure of the brain was a lifelong task,since you also had to allow for individual variation, and that meantworking with "tracking" molecules inside each brain before any workbegan. Most Operatives stuck to one area--usually, as most effective,sight or sound.
He was a sight man. He could create any visual hallucination, as longas the subject was within a twenty-five-foot range. Beyond that,control of the fantastically small electrons and photons simply becametoo diffused.
But Fredericks had a shield. And in case the shield didn't work, hewas coming with a blindfold.
The Psi Operative had no weapons, no reinforcements, no chance torun--nothing except his psi talent, which Fredericks had defensesagainst, and his brains.
But there had to be a way out.
Didn't there?
* * * * *
The desk clerk looked young and comparatively innocent. Fredericksambled over, taking his time about it. The clerk looked up and smileddistantly. "Yes, sir?"
"You've got a man registered here," Fredericks said, in crisp,official tones. "He gave the name of John P. Jones--"
The clerk was consulting a card file. "Yes, sir," he said brightly."Room 1014."
"He's at work on an FBI matter," Fredericks said. "Naturally, this isprivate and confidential--"
"Naturally," the clerk said in a subdued tone. "But I--"
"I'm assigned to work with him," Fredericks said. "You understand."
"Of course, sir," the clerk said, trying to look as if he did.
Fredericks took a deep breath. "I know he's here, but I don't know hisroom number," he said. "Some red-tape mixup."
"He's in 1014," the clerk said hopefully.
Fredericks shook his head. "Not that," he said. "The real room number.Look, I've got to get to him immediately--"
"Of course, sir," the clerk said. "Identification, sir?"
Fredericks grinned and fished in pockets. Naturally, he didn't come upwith a thing, FBI identification was infra-red tested, totallyunmistakable and unavailable to non-Operatives under any circumstanceswhatever. "Got it here some place," he muttered.
The clerk nodded. "Of course, sir," he said. "No need to waste time. Iunderstand."
Fredericks stopped and stared. "You what?"
"The room, sir, is 1212," the clerk said. "Would you like me toaccompany you--"
"No thanks," Fredericks breathed. "I'll find it myself." The man wastoo easy to find, he thought savagely. It ought to be tough to findhim--but it's easy.
Remotely, that idea bothered him. But what difference did it make,after all? He had all the protection in the world. He had all theprotection he was going to need. And all the time to fire one shot.Doing it blindfolded was going to be tough, but not insuperably tough.Fredericks had spent a week practicing, and he could locate a fly bysound within two inches, nineteen times out of twenty. That, hethought, was going to be good enough.
Upstairs, the Psi Operative thought so, too.
There had to be a way out, he told himself desperately.
But he couldn't find it.
He couldn't even come close.
* * * * *
On the way to Room 1212, he flipped on the shield, the mask, thebinder field. Now let the superman try something, he thought wildly.Now let him try his tricks! He attached the blindfold as he got offthe elevator. He could see Room 1212, three doors down the corridor,twenty steps--and then the blindfold was on. From now on he worked inthe dark.
He felt the skeleton key in his palm and flipped the shield off for asecond; then the key was in the lock, the shield back on, protectinghim. The door opened slowly.
He heard it shut behind him. Then there was silence. He drew his gun.
"Go ahead," a muffled voice said from his right. "Go ahead and trysomething, Fredericks."
He whirled and almost fired--but voices could be thrown. He listenedagain. There was silence ... not quite silence ... a movement ... arustle--
Breathing was faint but unmistakable. It gave him a new direction.Breathing couldn't be faked.
He pictured the Psi Operative, in one flash of imagination, trying toget through the shield, sweating as he strained helplessly against theforce shield, the binder field, the mask, the blindfold--oh, there wasno way out for the poor superman, no way at all.
And Psi Operatives didn't carry weapons or anything else. Theydepended on their powers, and that was all.
And he'd neutralized those powers.
The breathing gave him the direction. He turned again, bringing thegun up, and fired six shots without a second's break between them.There was a sound like a gasp, and then nothing.
Nothing at all.
Grinning wildly, Fredericks whipped off the blindfold and switched offhis shield in one triumphant motion. There, on the floor--
There, on the floor, was a nice gray rug with nobody at all lying deadon top of it. In the half-second it took Fredericks to see that, thePsi Operative moved. Fredericks tossed the empty gun at him andmissed; the man was coming too fast. He guarded his face but the PsiOperative didn't go for the face. Instead his hands went swinging upand out and _back_.
The sides of the palms landed neatly on the twin junctions ofFredericks' arms and shoulders. Fredericks let out a shriek as hisarms turned to acutely painful stone, and the Psi Operative steppedback and moved again in one blinding motion. This time the solarplexus was the target for one balled fist.
And then, of course, it was all over.
* * * * *
"Of course it was simple," Donegan said. "Anyone could have thought ofit--and I knew you would."
"All the same," the Psi Operative said, "I nearly didn't."
Donegan nodded. "If you hadn't," he said, "we'd stationed a mandownstairs who'd m
emorized your room. He could have done the job,too."
The Operative blinked. "Who?" he said.
"Desk clerk," Donegan said.
"Why didn't you tell me--"
"Now, use your head," Donegan said. "If you'd known you were allright, you'd never have thought of the answer. You had to prove youcould do it--prove it to yourself as well as to me."
"But--"
"And you had to prove you could beat him on his grounds, too, as wellas yours," Donegan went on. "You had to take him, not only with psiforces, but with the only weapons a Psi Operative is allowed tocarry."
"Fists," the Operative said. "Sure Judo and Karate are
But Fredericks wasn't depending on the shield alone. There was abinder field, too--a field which linked him to the surrounding area,quite tightly. That took care of the chance that the Psi Operativewould try to pick him up, force shield and all, and throw him out awindow or through the roof. With the binder field in operation, no psiforce could move him an inch.
A plug gas mask, too, inserted into the nostrils. The shield plus themask's pack held two hours' worth of air--just in case the PsiOperative tried to throw poisonous molecules through the forceshield, or deprive him of oxygen.
And then there was the blindfold. Such a simple thing, and soeffective.
* * * * *
Upstairs, the Psi Operative caught the sequence of thoughts. Did theFBI have to do such a thorough job, he wondered bitterly. Theequipment, he knew, would do everything Fredericks thought it woulddo. It was important that Fredericks go up against the Operativethinking he was completely protected--in that way his final defeatwould be most effective. He'd have guarded against every possiblefailure--so, when he failed, there would be nothing to explain it.
Except the "fact" that the Psi Operatives were supermen.
He gritted his teeth. It would be nice, he reflected, to be a realsuperman. But any talent has its limits. And, even allowing for that,only Donegan and a very few others could handle the full theoreticalpotentials of their talents. In theory, a telekineticist could moveany object with his mind that he could move with his hands. That was arough rule of thumb, but it worked. The larger objects were barred bysheer mass; no matter what kind of force you're using, there's a limitto how much of it you can apply.
The smaller objects--molecules, electrons, photons--simply tookpractice and training. First the object had to be visualized, and thegeneral structure memorized. Then the power had to be controlledcarefully enough so that you moved just what you wanted to move andnot, for instance, shift the Empire State Building while trying tolift a molecule out of its topmast.
It was possible, in theory, to create full sensory hallucinations byjuggling electron streams and molecules within the brain. Butmemorizing the entire structure of the brain was a lifelong task,since you also had to allow for individual variation, and that meantworking with "tracking" molecules inside each brain before any workbegan. Most Operatives stuck to one area--usually, as most effective,sight or sound.
He was a sight man. He could create any visual hallucination, as longas the subject was within a twenty-five-foot range. Beyond that,control of the fantastically small electrons and photons simply becametoo diffused.
But Fredericks had a shield. And in case the shield didn't work, hewas coming with a blindfold.
The Psi Operative had no weapons, no reinforcements, no chance torun--nothing except his psi talent, which Fredericks had defensesagainst, and his brains.
But there had to be a way out.
Didn't there?
* * * * *
The desk clerk looked young and comparatively innocent. Fredericksambled over, taking his time about it. The clerk looked up and smileddistantly. "Yes, sir?"
"You've got a man registered here," Fredericks said, in crisp,official tones. "He gave the name of John P. Jones--"
The clerk was consulting a card file. "Yes, sir," he said brightly."Room 1014."
"He's at work on an FBI matter," Fredericks said. "Naturally, this isprivate and confidential--"
"Naturally," the clerk said in a subdued tone. "But I--"
"I'm assigned to work with him," Fredericks said. "You understand."
"Of course, sir," the clerk said, trying to look as if he did.
Fredericks took a deep breath. "I know he's here, but I don't know hisroom number," he said. "Some red-tape mixup."
"He's in 1014," the clerk said hopefully.
Fredericks shook his head. "Not that," he said. "The real room number.Look, I've got to get to him immediately--"
"Of course, sir," the clerk said. "Identification, sir?"
Fredericks grinned and fished in pockets. Naturally, he didn't come upwith a thing, FBI identification was infra-red tested, totallyunmistakable and unavailable to non-Operatives under any circumstanceswhatever. "Got it here some place," he muttered.
The clerk nodded. "Of course, sir," he said. "No need to waste time. Iunderstand."
Fredericks stopped and stared. "You what?"
"The room, sir, is 1212," the clerk said. "Would you like me toaccompany you--"
"No thanks," Fredericks breathed. "I'll find it myself." The man wastoo easy to find, he thought savagely. It ought to be tough to findhim--but it's easy.
Remotely, that idea bothered him. But what difference did it make,after all? He had all the protection in the world. He had all theprotection he was going to need. And all the time to fire one shot.Doing it blindfolded was going to be tough, but not insuperably tough.Fredericks had spent a week practicing, and he could locate a fly bysound within two inches, nineteen times out of twenty. That, hethought, was going to be good enough.
Upstairs, the Psi Operative thought so, too.
There had to be a way out, he told himself desperately.
But he couldn't find it.
He couldn't even come close.
* * * * *
On the way to Room 1212, he flipped on the shield, the mask, thebinder field. Now let the superman try something, he thought wildly.Now let him try his tricks! He attached the blindfold as he got offthe elevator. He could see Room 1212, three doors down the corridor,twenty steps--and then the blindfold was on. From now on he worked inthe dark.
He felt the skeleton key in his palm and flipped the shield off for asecond; then the key was in the lock, the shield back on, protectinghim. The door opened slowly.
He heard it shut behind him. Then there was silence. He drew his gun.
"Go ahead," a muffled voice said from his right. "Go ahead and trysomething, Fredericks."
He whirled and almost fired--but voices could be thrown. He listenedagain. There was silence ... not quite silence ... a movement ... arustle--
Breathing was faint but unmistakable. It gave him a new direction.Breathing couldn't be faked.
He pictured the Psi Operative, in one flash of imagination, trying toget through the shield, sweating as he strained helplessly against theforce shield, the binder field, the mask, the blindfold--oh, there wasno way out for the poor superman, no way at all.
And Psi Operatives didn't carry weapons or anything else. Theydepended on their powers, and that was all.
And he'd neutralized those powers.
The breathing gave him the direction. He turned again, bringing thegun up, and fired six shots without a second's break between them.There was a sound like a gasp, and then nothing.
Nothing at all.
Grinning wildly, Fredericks whipped off the blindfold and switched offhis shield in one triumphant motion. There, on the floor--
There, on the floor, was a nice gray rug with nobody at all lying deadon top of it. In the half-second it took Fredericks to see that, thePsi Operative moved. Fredericks tossed the empty gun at him andmissed; the man was coming too fast. He guarded his face but the PsiOperative didn't go for the face. Instead his hands went swinging upand out and _back_.
The sides of the palms landed neatly on the twin junctions ofFredericks' arms and shoulders. Fredericks let out a shriek as hisarms turned to acutely painful stone, and the Psi Operative steppedback and moved again in one blinding motion. This time the solarplexus was the target for one balled fist.
And then, of course, it was all over.
* * * * *
"Of course it was simple," Donegan said. "Anyone could have thought ofit--and I knew you would."
"All the same," the Psi Operative said, "I nearly didn't."
Donegan nodded. "If you hadn't," he said, "we'd stationed a mandownstairs who'd m
emorized your room. He could have done the job,too."
The Operative blinked. "Who?" he said.
"Desk clerk," Donegan said.
"Why didn't you tell me--"
"Now, use your head," Donegan said. "If you'd known you were allright, you'd never have thought of the answer. You had to prove youcould do it--prove it to yourself as well as to me."
"But--"
"And you had to prove you could beat him on his grounds, too, as wellas yours," Donegan went on. "You had to take him, not only with psiforces, but with the only weapons a Psi Operative is allowed tocarry."
"Fists," the Operative said. "Sure Judo and Karate are
