American Science Fiction #41 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~=t ly _-the brain?” he went on. ' "SHE FINAL - FIGURE before we did,” said the General. . gt. he claims the whole process is purely logical.” “Logic!” exclaimed the brain-man with a scorn that matched the Gene- ral’s own on the subject. “Logic is hindsight, Kermit. When our brains, by some intuitive process of progres- sive -thought, reach a desired point, our egos reach backward to give the process a sort of order we call logic. Actually we seldom know how we get where we do; but were too damned conceited to admit it. : “What in hell do we know about “J knew a perfectly healthy young girl once, who was killed when she was standing be- side her horse—the horse sneezed, jerked his head up, and jolted the side of her jaw. Yet back in seventeen eighty-one, when Arnold ordered the Massacre at Fort Griswold, one old rebel was bayonetted, had his skull smashed open so that his brains were oozing out on the ground. He re- covered and lived for forty years afterward, sane as you please. And they didn’t have fellows like me, not then. If they had, he’d probably have died <n the operating table.” . “In other words you don’t know,” said the General. “I don’t know, Kermit,” replied the Other. “Another drink?” P.HE next day the international situation showed signs of serious - deterioration, and the General took a plane to New York: All the way up he thought of something else the Sur- geon-General had said to him—“One thing I have learned. - It isn’t exactly in my province, but I’ve run into it enough to make an observation. “Whenever I’ve met anyone with what might be called a special gift— psychic or what have you—l’ve found them scared to death of it. - Damned if I know why...” He ruminated a little before con- tinving. “You'd think they’d be de- lighted—but they aren’t. They either run to religion, and try to drown it in ritual—or they try to explain it away by some rationalisation. Like your friend, 31 “Then you're. willing to accept the fact he has a supernatural gift?” the General asked. The brain-man shrugged and said, “Supernatural—supernormal—he’s got something, if what you tell me is true. Can you think of a better ’ole?” CHAPTER IV y= he was driven up to the Long Island chalet early -that afternoon, the General was pleased to - see a command car parked unobtru- sively off the road, a sentry sitting in an impromptu sentry-box made of pine bows, that commanded a good view of the approaches. At. least, he thought, They wouldn’t find Mac- Reedy easy to get at. According to the reports he had seen there had been no further attempts. Toby opened the door. He said, — “Hello, General, this is fine. We were going to send you a message tonight.” The General shook hands and said, “Progress?” and, when the boy nod- ded excitedly, “Why aren’t you in school?” “It’s after three o'clock,” was the devastating reply, as Toby led him to- ward the cellar stairs. The General wondered briefly how much he had managed to forget in his fifty-two years.” . Angus MacReedy was working at _ his carving table with a blow-up of _the spy-pictures tacked to the cellar - wall in front of him, a pile of rough- sketched plans on the table. He rose and said, “I was just doing a little pol- ishing, General,-But you hit it about right.” “Good,” said the General. “Got it solved?” “J think so,” said the model-maker “Take a look.” | It was an eerie-looking item—a sort of stove-pipe mounted on a disc, sur- rounded by a flock of flying buttresses, Frowning the General peered at it, then looked at the blow-ups on the walls. From the correct angle, the similarity Was ominously unmistak- pple. He said, “What in hell is it, Cap- tain?” MacReedy grinned. “Looks weird, | doesn’t it? It had me stumped for the comichooks:;com, Sa