Hall came out of the entrance and tried to walk around the two men, but
the farmer caught him by the sleeve.

"A reporter, huh? Well, I got some news for you. That thing from Grismet
just killed a kid."

Hall could restrain himself no longer.

"That's a lie," he said coldly.

The farmer looked him up and down.

"What do you know about it," he demanded. "My brother-in-law got it from
somebody in the state guard."

"It's still a lie."

"Just because it's not on the teledepth, you say it's a lie," the farmer
said belligerently. "Not everything is told on the teledepth, Mr.
Wiseheimer. They're keeping it a secret. They don't want to scare the
people."

Hall started to walk away, but the farmer blocked his path.

"Who are you anyway? Where do you live? I never saw you before," he said
suspiciously.

"Aw, Randy," his companion said, "don't go suspecting everybody."

"I don't like anyone to call me a liar."

Hall stepped around the man in his path, and turned down the street. He
was boiling inside with an almost uncontrollable fury.

* * * * *

A few feet away, catastrophe suddenly broke loose. A faulty section of
the sidewalk split without warning under his feet and he went pitching
forward into the street. He clutched desperately at the trunk of a tall
palm tree, but with a loud snap, it broke, throwing him head on into a
parked road car. The entire front end of the car collapsed like an egg
shell under his weight.

For a long moment, the entire street was dead quiet. With difficulty,
Hall pulled himself to his feet. Pale, astonished faces were staring at
him from all sides.

Suddenly the farmer started screaming. "That's him. I knew it. That's
him." He was jumping up and down with excitement.

Hall turned his back and walked in the other direction. The people in
front of him faded away, leaving a clear path.

He had gone a dozen steps when a man with a huge double-barreled shotgun
popped out from a store front just ahead. He aimed for the middle of
Hall's chest and fired both barrels.

The blast and the shot struck Hall squarely, burning a large hole in his
shirt front. He did not change his pace, but continued step by step.

The man with the gun snatched two shells out of his pocket and
frantically tried to reload. Hall reached out and closed his hand over
the barrel of the gun and the blue steel crumpled like wet paper.

From across the street, someone was shooting