Astounding Science Fiction, February 1952 (British Edition) — page 36: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

34 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION exit from inside. A guard with a hatchet was standing before the door, and I re- cognized him. It was Billy Garth. I didn’t like him much. “The Chief wants to see me,” I said. “Well if it isn’t the Atom Master,” he said. “The tough boy. You got a mark?” I showed him my summons, the usual hunk of clay stamped with a seal. “Go ahead,” he said, “and leave your gun behind. [ll hold it for you.” 7 “Nothing doing,” I told him. “My gun is’ one of the twelve or fifteen left in the whole Valley, and maybe in the world for all I know. If I ever let it out of my hands, I'd never get it back.” We looked at each other for a minute, and I could see his hand getting tight on the hatchet. I said, “Don’t be a fool, Billy. I may give you trouble.” “All right, tough guy,” he said uglily. “Get. going.” I opened the door, looking as casual as I could but being careful not to turn my back to Billy, and stepped into the Official. The Chief is a man of about fifty; big, with gray hair and a very watchful look. He has a gun, too, of a different make than mine, and he lets the word get around that he possesses several boxes of bullets. He was wearing a real cloth shirt, and a cap with a shiny visor. Sitting on the arm of his chair was Norma, one of his wives, a short dark woman with a lot of jewelry. They both looked up when I came in. “I know you,” said the Chief. “Tom Hunter. J never forget a name.” “You wanted to see me, Chief?” I said. “Sure,” he said. “Norma, this is the boy who went into the Ruins after that crazy madman.” She smiled sulkily but said nothing, and 1 guess she wasn’t supposed to answer, because the Chief went right on without waiting for her to say a word. “I got a job for you, Tom,” he said. “A big job that pays good—if you bring it off all right.” “('m working for you.” { said. “Can you read, Tom?” he asked. “No.” “I can’t either,” he returned heartily. “That makes us both the same kind of man. I can’t read, and I never saw the reason why I should, either.” I knew that was a lie. The Chief could read, all right, but he preferred to keep it quiet. As for myself, I have nothing against reading. My father could read, and offered to teach me when I was a boy, but I guess I was too busy learning the other things that a man needs if he is going to stay alive. “Reading can be dangeroys, Tom,” the Chief went on, acting as if he were the best friend I had in the world. “A lot of trouble comes from reading. Here in Sacramento we’ve got a fine country, with a thriving town and _ satisfied farmers. Never any trouble, except from agitators. And when we catch an agitator, what do we find? Why, every time, he’s some fool who’s been secretly reading a book he dug up out of a hole. Ain’t that right?” “Sure,” I said. “How do you feel about these trouble- makers, Tom, and their holler about learn- ing how to make machinery and stuff?” “Look,” I said, “I told you before, I’m working for you. You furnish my Keep, and I’ve got no complaint with the quality of it. So I don’t have to have any opinions. Tell me the job and I'll do it.” Norma smirked, and leaned down to whisper in the Chief’s ear. He listened’ in- tently, his shrewd eyes never leaving me. “All right, Tom,” he said at last. “I want you to find a man, and bring him back ~- to me if possible. But I want him alive. He has to be alive. If he dies, you do too.” “Who is he?” I asked. “His name is Johnson. He’s another one of these agitators I’ve been telling you about. A slim red-headed guy with a squint.” That reminded me. I’d heard about Johnson. He was a farmer in the southwest border, not too far from the Ruins. He had been making a nuisance of himself by urging everyone to learn reading, and had also been trying to organize some of the other farmers against the Chief. Of course, that is rebellion, and cannot be overlooked; so I hadn’t been too surprised to hear, one fine day, that Johnson disappeared. How- ever, these things took place a good year ago, and I never suspected that the red- head might still be alive. . “T thought he was dead,” I said. “Did you?” said the Chief. “Must be somebody else you're thinking about. This. Johnson is alive, all right. I believe he went into the Ruins. He’s working there, plot- ting against me, and that means against you, too. Now you know what you have to do.” If the Ruins do not frighten me as much as they do others, its because [m not Eomichbooks-com