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Updated: May 16, 2025
Suddenly, his mind was afire, searching through his experience with the strange not-men he had learned to detect, trying to remember everything he had learned and deduced about them before they began their brutal persecution. They were men, and they looked like men, but they were different. They had other properties of mind, other capabilities that men did not have. They were not-men.
If the United States believed itself attacked from space, it would not launch missiles against men. It would ask help, and help would be given even by its rival if the invasion were from another planet. Men would always combine against not-men.
And then, as though he had never been there at all, the big man vanished, and Harry sat back on the floor, his whole body shaking with frustrated sobs as his mind twisted in anguish. He had been wrong, completely wrong, ever since he had discovered the not-men. Because he had thought they had been the ones who hunted and tortured him for so long. And now he knew how far he had been wrong.
So the banished man was most often doomed to become a hinin, one of that wretched class of wandering pariahs who were officially termed "not-men," and lived by beggary, or by the exercise of some vulgar profession, such as that of ambulant musician or mountebank.
Before that interview, the not-men were torturing him, remember? Because they were afraid he would report his findings to me, of course. But now it's I that's against him." The grin widened. "You see where that leads?" "You're talking almost as though you believed this story about a different sort of people among us." Dr. Webber shrugged. "Perhaps I do." "Oh, come now, George." Dr.
And this was the stronghold where the not-men could be found, too. The thought cut through Harry's mind, sending a tremor up his spine. He had found them here; he had uncovered his first clues here, and discovered them; and even now his mind was filled with the horrible, paralyzing fear he had felt that first night when he had made the discovery.
A cunning organization of men who are not-men, a regular fairy story, all straight from Harry Scott's agile young mind. But now it's we who are persecuting him, and he still believes his fairy tale." "So?" Dr. Webber's eyes flashed angrily. "It's too neat, Frank. It's clever, and it's powerful, whatever we've run up against. But I think we've got an ace in the hole. We have Harry Scott."
It's escaping to the safety his fantasy people can afford him, these not-men he thinks about." "Yes, yes," agreed Dr. Webber, his eyes eager. "Oh, he's on the run now." "But what will he do when he finds there aren't any 'not-men' to save him? What will he do then?" Webber looked up, frowning and grim. "Then we'll know what he found behind the dark door that he opened, that's what."
Yet he knew now that he dared not go back where he had come from. At least he could understand why the not-men might have feared and persecuted him, but he could not understand the horrible assault that Dr. Webber had unleashed. And somehow he found Dr. Webber's attack infinitely more frightening. He seemed to be safe here, though, at least for the moment.
He had started down the hallway from his room, to find Dr. Webber and tell him about the other people He stopped short, looked up wide-eyed. Had he been going to Dr. Webber? Had he actually decided to go? Perhaps yes, perhaps he had, though Webber would only laugh at such a ridiculous story. But the not-men who had hunted him would not laugh; to them, it would not be funny.
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