Buck stared at the bottle.
It wavered. Just a little. Rocked, and settled back.
Buck stared harder, eyes bulging.
The bottle shivered. That was all.
"Hell," Buck said. "I can't seem to—to get ahold of it with my mind, like I can with my gun."
"Try moving this glass on the table," the professor said, "It's smaller, and closer."
Buck stared at the glass. It moved a fraction of an inch across the tabletop. No more.
Buck snarled like a dog and swatted the glass with his hand, knocking it halfway across the room.
"Possibly," the professor said, after a moment, "you can do it with your gun because you want to so very badly. The strength of your desire releases—or creates—whatever psychic forces are necessary to perform the act." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Young man, suppose you try to transport your gun to—say, to the top of the bar."