[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Witch! Witch!" The cry was among the walkers, but he didn't bother to
track it down. It was no longer a fighting word to Hammen. He wore it
like a badge of honor. It tasted of brass, but it gleamed on him.
A puzzled growl came from the Familiar at his heels. The dog could
never understand how people could hate Hammen. Lad, the dog, often
asked Hammen how anyone could possibly hate Hammen, and Hammen always
told him to shut up; he couldn't understand--he was only a dog.
The walk ramp was crowded this afternoon with people fresh from the
transmatter stations, eager to tell themselves they were walking on
a strange planet. Hammen passed among the nudists, the cavaliers,
the zip-suiters, the zoot-suiters, the Ivy-coated, the Moss-covered,
walking not for novelty or exercise but because he preferred to go
everywhere under his own power. Even to the stars.
Hale and Lora saluted him a few paces away from the entrance to the
station. They were a beautiful blond couple, with brightly polished
faces. Hammen didn't much like them, but he didn't feel sufficiently
pressed to be rude enough to let them become aware of it.
"How goes it, kids?" he asked them.
"Couldn't be better," Hale said.
"Of course not," Lora added.
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