The Stutterer | Page 4

very penetrating short-wave length
radiation which you can pick up on your meters anywhere in a radius of
two thousand miles, and you can locate the source accurately if you get
within fifty miles.
"The only real problem you'll have in finding them is the confusion
created by illegal atomic piles. You'd be surprised how many of them
we have turned up recently. They are owned by private parties and are
run illegally to keep from paying the tax on sources of power. You
have to track those down, but once you get them labeled it will be clear
sailing."
He stopped to take a few puffs on his pipe.
"Don't try to be a hero," he said after a few moments. "Don't get close
to the thing you are hunting. None of them yet has injured any of us,
but if one should want to, he could crush you to death with two fingers.
Use the permallium nets and net bombs if you locate him."
He tamped his pipe out. "Well, that's it," he said.
The new man arose. "I want you to know that I appreciate the trust you
have put in me."

"Sure, sure," the chief said, but it was not unfriendly. "Do you like the
job?"
"It is a great opportunity," Jordan said, and he meant it.
"What do you think about what we do to them after we capture them?"
The new man shrugged. "I suppose it's the only thing to do. It's not as
though they were human."
"Yeah," the chief said. "I guess so. Anyway, good luck."
Jordan arose and shook the chief's hand. However, just as he was
stepping through the door, his superior asked him another question.
"Did you know that one of them stutters?"
He turned back, puzzled. "Stutters? Why should he stutter? How could
that be?"
The chief shook his head and started cleaning out his pipe.
"I don't know for sure. You'd better get started." He sat back in his seat
and watched the back of the new man as he disappeared through the
doorway.
That young fellow has a lot to learn, he thought to himself. But even so,
maybe he's better off than I am. Maybe I've had too much experience.
Maybe too much experience puts you back where you started from.
You've done the wrong thing so many times and profited so many times
from your mistakes that you see errors and tragedies in everything.
He was depressed, and he did something that usually made him feel
better again. He reached under the edge of his desk and pulled a little
switch that made the galactic map on the wall light up in
three-dimensional depth, then he swung around in his chair so he could
see it. Eight thousand planets that his race had conquered, eight
thousand planets hundreds of light-years apart. Looking at the map
gave him a sense of accomplishment and pride in humanity which even

a stupid war and its aftermath could not completely destroy.
* * * * *
Jon Hall, the fugitive, walked along the highway leading south from the
rocket port. There was very little traffic, only an occasional delivery
truck carrying meat or groceries. The real highway was half a mile
overhead where the copters shuttled back and forth up and down the
state in neat orderly layers.
The seventeen were inside his head, looking through his eyes, and
feasting on the blueness of the sky, and the rich green vegetation that
covered the fertile fields. From time to time they talked to him, giving
advice, asking questions, or making comments, but mostly they looked,
each knowing that the hours of their sight might be very few.
After walking a while, Hall became aware of someone's footsteps
behind him. He stopped suddenly in apprehension and swung around.
A dozen or so paces away was a red-headed boy of about ten or eleven,
dressed in plastic overalls, and carrying a basket of ripe raspberries.
The stains about his mouth showed that not all the raspberries were
carried in the basket.
Hall's anxiety faded, and he was glad to see the child. He had hoped to
meet someone who was not so old that they would become suspicious,
but old enough that they might give him directions.
He waited for the lad to catch up.
"Hello," the boy said. "I've been walking behind you most of a mile,
but I guess you didn't hear me."
"It looks as though you've been p-p-picking raspberries," Hall said.
"Yup. My dad owns a patch by the river. Want some?" He proffered the
basket.
"No, thank you," Hall answered. He resumed his walk up the highway

with the boy at his side.
"D-do you live around here," he asked.
"Just up the road a ways." The lad