The Stutterer | Page 6

company a small atomic pile. The owner was using it as an illegal generator of electricity, and when he saw Jordan snooping about with his detection instruments, he immediately offered the agent a sizable bribe. It was a grave mistake since Jordan filed charges against him, via teledepth, not only for evading taxes, but also for attempted bribery.
The second strike seemed more hopeful. He picked up strong radiation in a rather barren area of Montana; however when he landed, he found that it was arising from the earth itself. From a short conversation with the local authorities, he learned that the phenomenon was well known: an atomic fission plant had been destroyed at that site during the Third World War.
He was flying over the lovely blue water of Lake Bonneville, when his teledepth screen flickered. He flipped the switch on and the lieutenant's picture flooded in.
"I have a call I think you ought to take," the Earth official said. "It seems as though it might be in your line. It's from a sheriff in a small town in California. I'll have the operator plug him in."
* * * * *
Abruptly the picture switched to that of a stout red-faced man wearing the brown uniform of a county peace officer.
"You're the galactic man?" the sheriff asked.
"Yes. My name is Tom Jordan," Jordan said.
"Mine's Berkhammer." It must have been warm in California because the sheriff pulled out a large handkerchief and mopped his brow. When he was done with that he blew his nose loudly. "Hay fever," he announced.
"Want to see my credentials?"
"Oh sure, sure," the sheriff hastily replied. He scrutinized the card and badge that Jordan displayed. After a moment, he said, "I don't know why I'm looking at those. They might be fakes for all I know. Never saw them before and I'll probably never see them again."
"They're genuine."
"The deuce with formality," the sheriff said heavily. "There's some kid around here who thinks he saw that ... that machine you're supposed to be looking for."
"When was that?" Jordan asked.
"About four hours ago. Here, I'll let you talk to him yourself." He pulled his big bulk to one side, and a boy and his father walked into the picture. The boy was red-eyed, as though he had been crying. The father was a tall, stoop-shouldered farmer, dressed like his son in plastic overalls.
* * * * *
The sheriff patted the boy on the back. "Come on, Jimmy. Tell the man what you saw."
"I saw him," the boy said sullenly. "I walked up the highway with him."
Jordan leaned forward toward the screen.
"How did you know who he was?"
"I knew because when he stepped on the ground, he sank into it up to his knee. He tried to say the ground was soft, but it was hard. I know it was hard."
"Why did you wait so long to tell anybody?" Jordan asked softly.
The boy looked at him with defiance and dislike in his eyes and kept his small mouth clamped shut.
His father nudged him roughly in the ribs.
"Answer the man," he commanded.
Jimmy looked down at his shoes.
"Because he asked me not to tell for a while," he said curtly.
"Stubborn as nails," the father said not without pride in his voice. "Got more loyalty to a lousy machine than to the whole human race."
"Which way did he go, Jimmy?"
"Toward Red Mountain. I think maybe to the power house. He asked me where it was."
"What do you think he wants with that?" the sheriff asked of Jordan.
Jordan shrugged and shook his head.
"Maybe it's all in the kid's head," the sheriff suggested. "These wild teledepth programs they look at give them all kinds of ideas."
"It isn't in my head," Jimmy said violently. "I saw him. He stepped on the ground and stuck his foot into it. I talked to him. And I know something else. He stutters."
"What?" said the sheriff. "Now I know you're lying."
The father started dragging the boy by the arm. "Come on home, Jimmy. You got one more licking coming."
Jordan, however, was sure the boy was not lying. "Leave him alone," he said. "He's right. He did see him." He took a fast look at the timepiece on his panel board. "I'll be down in an hour and a half. Wait for me."
He flicked the switch off, and kicked up the motors. The ship shot southward almost as rapidly as a projectile.
He had topped the Sierras and had just turned into the great central valley of California when, with the impact of a blow, a frightening thought occurred to him.
He flicked the screen on again, and he caught the sheriff sitting behind his desk industriously scratching himself in one armpit.
"Listen," Jordan said, speaking very fast. "You've got to send out a national alarm. You must get every man you can down to the