The Cybernetic Kid by John Jakes _When a science-fantasy writer with a bent for stark realism—remember John Jakes’ chillingly somber DIRGE FOR THE SANE?—lifts a child prodigy to his shoulders and goes prancing about with chuckles of high glee we’re left a little stunned. But somber or joyous, a Jakes yarn has a magic all its own!_ =A child genius is like an atomic acorn. He can grow into a sturdy oak, or blow the lid off generally.= Ptui! went the old-fashioned pea-shooter. “Wow!” exclaimed Sailor Burns, massaging his knobby dome once so familiar to habitues of the system-wide wrestling telecasts. The Sailor’s usually cheery expression disappeared, to be replaced by a complete and rapturous stare of puzzled dullness. “Will you for Pete’s sake quit yelling?” snapped Mr. Fred Ajax, removing his cigar from his lips. “If I don’t figure out an angle pretty soon, the creditors are going to heave us into the nearest penal institution.” _Ptui!_ repeated the deadly weapon. “Zowie!” ejaculated the Sailor, more out of surprise than pain. This homely scene was enacted early one morning in the city park as Mr. Fred Ajax and his associate were on their way to their place of business, Ajax Enterprises. What they were going to do when they arrived was a mystery to Ajax. The Sailor did not trouble his head about such abstract considerations. Ajax’s most recent invention, the Skin-of-Delight lamp, had run its course of popularity, leaving the business, to say the least, almost broke. Monthly bills had completed the annihilation. As the second missile connected with the Sailor’s dome, causing him to cry out, Ajax stopped dead in the gravel path. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “It’s too early in the year for mosquitoes.” Perplexed, the Sailor replied, “I dunno, Fred. Something’s been hitting my head.” The Sailor appeared sad. “It hurts.” “I’m amazed,” Ajax replied with a slight shade of sarcasm in his tone. He looked into the shrubbery on both sides of the path. “Aha! There’s the trouble, I’ll bet.” The trouble happened to be a small boy of around eight, with crew-cut hair and large glasses which magnified his eyes to peculiar proportions. He was watching our friends with a smirk of fiendish pleasure on his face, all the while waving his pea-shooter in derision. The lower half of his body was concealed by a shrub. The lad uttered a loud raspberry. Ajax put his hands on his hips, screwed up the side of his mouth and leered. “Come here, kid.” The boy hesitated, his face losing its air of jolly hellishness. The Sailor blinked, not understanding his companion’s severe manner. “I said come here,” intoned Ajax with a gangsterish cast to his features. The boy was clearly trained to obey his elders. With a sad, reluctant face he stepped from the bushes and came toward the two, scuffing his oxfords on the gravel of the path.