He flicked the match out, and Paul watched the cigarette-glow make an arc as the man waved at him.
“Nice night, isn’t it?” said the voice from the darkness.
Paul stood exposed in the moonlight, carrying the shotgun at the ready.
The voice sounded like that of an adolescent, not fully changed to its adult timbre.
If the youth wasn’t a dermie, why wasn’t he afraid that Paul might be one?
And if he was a dermie, why wasn’t he advancing in the hope that Paul might be as yet untouched?
“I said, ‘Nice night, isn’t it?’
Whatcha carrying the gun for?
Been shooting rabbits?”
Paul moved a little closer and fumbled for his flash-light.
Then he threw its beam on the slouching figure in the shadows.
He saw a young man, perhaps sixteen, reclining against the wall.
He saw the pearl-gray face that characterized the final and permanent stage of neuroderm!
He stood frozen to the spot a dozen feet away from the youth, who blinked perplexedly into the light.
The kid was assuming automatically that he was another dermie!
Paul tried to keep him blinded while he played along with the fallacy.
“Yeah, it’s a nice night.
You got any idea where I can find a doctor?”
The boy frowned.
“Doctor?
You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?
I’m new here.”
“New?
Oh…” the boy’s nostrils began twitching slightly, as if he were sniffing at the night air.
“Well, most of the priests down at Saint Mary’s were missionaries. They’re all doctors.
Why? You sick?”
“No, there’s a girl… But never mind.
How do I get there?
And are any of them dermies?”
The boy’s eyes wandered peculiarly, and his mouth fell open, as if he had been asked why a circle wasn’t square.
“You are new, aren’t you?
They’re all dermies, if you want to call them that.
Wh—” Again the nostrils were flaring.
He flicked the cigarette away suddenly and inhaled a slow draught of the breeze.
“I… I smell a non-hyper,” he muttered.
Paul started to back away.
His scalp bristled a warning.
The boy advanced a step toward him.
A slow beam of anticipation began to glow in his face.
He bared his teeth in a wide grain of pleasure.
“You’re not a hyper yet,” he hissed, moving forward. “I’ve never had a chance to touch a nonhyper…”
“Stay back, or I’ll kill you!”
The lad giggled and came on, talking to himself.
“The padre says it’s wrong, but you smell so… so… ugh…” He flung himself forward with a low throaty cry.
Paul sidestepped the charge and brought the gun barrel down across the boy’s head.
The dermie sprawled howling in the street.
Paul pushed the gun close to his face, but the youth started up again.
Paul jabbed viciously with the barrel, and felt it strike and tear.
“I don’t want to have to blow your head off—”