The enlightened days of mental telepathy and ESP should have made
the world a better place, But the minute the Rhine Institute
opened up, all the crooks decided it was time to go collegiate!
Someone behind me in the dark was toting a needle-ray. The impression came
through so strong that I could almost read the filed-off serial number of
the thing, but the guy himself I couldn't dig at all. I stopped to look
back but the only sign of life I could see was the fast flick of taxicab
lights as they crossed an intersection about a half mile back. I stepped
into a doorway so that I could think and stay out of the line of fire at
the same time.
The impression of the needle-ray did not get any stronger, and that tipped
me off. The bird was following me. He was no peace-loving citizen because
honest men do not cart weapons with the serial numbers filed off.
Therefore the character tailing me was a hot papa with a burner charge
labelled "Steve Hammond" in his needler.
I concentrated, but the only impression I could get would have specified
ninety-eight men out of a hundred anywhere. He was shorter than my
six-feet-two and lighter than my one-ninety. I could guess that he was
better looking. I'd had my features arranged by a blocked drop kick the
year before the National Football League ruled the Rhine Institute out
because of our use of mentals and perceptives. I gave up trying--I wanted
details and not an overall picture of a hotbird carrying a burner.