We'll never know who does the job, he told himself. It's better that way. Like table-tipping. You can say "I didn't do it." You can even be sure you didn't do it, if you want to. But the table tips if you get enough people around the table. Ouiji writes, if at least two people have their fingers on it, so that they each can say "I didn't do it." Who are the witches? Why, they're the people, and they're not for burning. The fanatics and their statesmen, the eggheads and their politicians, the brains and the brain trusts and the world-weary--they're for burning, but not the witches. Which witch is a witch? Doesn't matter. * * * * * An hour later, Bill Howard sat down to the typewriter again. He'd stated the general problem--but now he had a specific problem, and, for a man in his line of business, it was a fairly straightforward problem. He need only plot out the necessary moves so that he could call on that witch power just one more time. Just once. Just long enough to clean out the violent, rooted resistance to the idea that people had powers--and could work miracles! THE END * * * * * End of Project Gutenberg's Prologue to an Analogue, by Leigh Richmond