[Transcriber's Notes:

 1. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that thecopyright on this publication was renewed. 

 2. Several misprints corrected. The complete list may be foundat the end of the file. ]

"Yes sir. Well, there are three men outside trying to kill me.... "

"Quite right, " Mr. Frendlyer said. "And today is Landing Day. You cameoff the ship that landed today, and have been classified a peon.... I'mhappy to say that everything is in order. The Landing Day Hunt ends atsundown. You can leave here with the knowledge that everything iscorrect and that your rights have not been violated. "

"Leave here? After sundown, you mean. "

Mr. Frendlyer shook his head and smiled sadly. "I'm afraid not. According to the law you must leave here at once. "

"But they'll kill me!"

"That's very true. Unfortunately it can't be helped. A victim bydefinition is one who is to be killed.... We protect rights, notvictims. "

 OMEGA: PRISON PLANET LIFE EXPECTANCY: THREE YEARS MAXIMUM MOST PEOPLE ARE LUCKIER THAN THAT.... 

 Books by ROBERT SHECKLEY:

 CITIZEN IN SPACE IMMORTALITY, INC. MINDSWAP PILGRIMAGE TO EARTH THE 10TH VICTIM UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN HANDS DIMENSION OF MIRACLES THE JOURNEY OF JOENES THE STATUS CIVILIZATION/NOTIONS: UNLIMITED

 _From ACE Science Fiction_

 THE STATUS CIVILIZATION

 ROBERT SHECKLEY

 ace books

 A Division of Charter Communications Inc. A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY

 360 Park Avenue South New York, New York 10010

THE STATUS CIVILIZATION

Copyright © 1960 by Robert Sheckley

First appeared under the title _Omega in Amazing Science FictionStories_, published by Ziff-Davis. 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any formor by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in areview, without permission in writing from the publisher. 

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualpersons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 

An ACE Book

_Cover art by David Bergen_

First Ace printing: November 1979

2468097531

Manufactured in the United States of America

CONTENTS

 THE STATUS CIVILIZATION 1

TO ANYA

THE STATUS CIVILIZATION

Chapter One

His return to consciousness was a slow and painful process. It was ajourney in which he traversed all time. He dreamed. He rose throughthick layers of sleep, out of the imaginary beginnings of all things. Helifted a pseudopod from primordial ooze, and the pseudopod was _him_. Hebecame an amoeba which contained _his_ essence; then a fish marked withhis own peculiar individuality; then an ape unlike all other apes. Andfinally, he became a man. 

What kind of man? Dimly he saw himself, faceless, a beamer gripped tighton one hand, a corpse at his feet. _That_ kind of man. 

He awoke, rubbed his eyes, and waited for further memories to come. 

No memories came. Not even his name. 

He sat up hastily and willed memory to return. When it didn't, he lookedaround, seeking in his surroundings some clue to his identity. 

He was sitting on a bed in a small gray room. There was a closed dooron one side. On the other, through a curtained alcove, he could see atiny lavatory. Light came into the room from some hidden source, perhapsfrom the ceiling itself. The room had a bed and a single chair, andnothing else. 

He held his chin in his hand and closed his eyes. He tried to catalogueall his knowledge, and the implications of that knowledge. He knew thathe was a man, species Homo sapiens, an inhabitant of the planet Earth. He spoke a language which he knew was English. (Did that mean that therewere other languages?) He knew the commonplace names for things: room, light, chair. He possessed in addition a limited amount of generalknowledge. He knew that there were many important things which he didnot know, which he once had known. 

_Something must have happened to me. _

That something could have been worse. If it had gone a little further, he might have been left a mindless creature without a language, unawareof being human, of being a man, of being of Earth. A certain amount hadbeen left to him. 

But when he tried to think beyond the basic facts in his possession, hecame to a dark and horror-filled area. _Do Not Enter. _ Exploration intohis own mind was as dangerous as a journey to--what? He couldn't find ananalogue, though he suspected that many existed. 

_I must have been sick. _

That was the only reasonable explanation. He was a man with therecollection of memories. He must at one time have had that pricelesswealth of recall which now he could only deduce from the limitedevidence at his disposal. At one time he must have had specific memoriesof birds, trees, friends, family, status, a wife perhaps. Now he couldonly theorize about them. Once he had been able to say, this is like, or, that reminds me of. Now nothing reminded him of anything, and thingswere only like themselves. He had lost his powers of contrast andcomparison. He could no longer analyze the present in terms of theexperienced past. 

_This must be a hospital. _

Of course. He was being cared for in this place. Kindly doctors wereworking to restore his memory, to replace his identity, to restore hisjudgment apparatus, to tell him who and what he was. It was very good ofthem; he felt tears of gratitude start in his eyes. 

He stood up and walked slowly around his small room. He went to the doorand found it locked. That locked door gave him a moment of panic whichhe sternly controlled. Perhaps he had been violent. 

Well, he wouldn't be violent any more. They'd see. They would award himall possible patient privileges. He would speak about that with thedoctor. 

He waited. After a long time, he heard footsteps coming down thecorridor outside his door. He sat on the edge of the cot and listened, trying to control his excitement. 

The footsteps stopped beside his door. A panel slid open, and a facepeered in. 

"How are you feeling?" the man asked. 

He walked up to the panel, and saw that the man who questioned him wasdressed in a brown uniform. He had an object on his waist which couldbe identified, after a moment, as a weapon. This man was undoubtedly aguard. He had a blunt, unreadable face. 

"Could you tell me my name?" he asked the guard. 

"Call yourself 402, " the guard said. "That's your cell number. "

He didn't like it. But 402 was better than nothing at all. He asked theguard, "Have I been sick for long? Am I getting better?"

"Yes, " the guard said, in a voice that carried no conviction. "Theimportant thing is, stay quiet. Obey the rules. That's the best way. "

"Certainly, " said 402. "But why can't I remember anything?"

"Well, that's the way it goes, " the guard said. He started to walk away. 

402 called after him, "Wait! You can't just leave me like this, you haveto tell me something. What happened to me? Why am I in this hospital?"

"Hospital?" the guard said. He turned toward 402 and grinned. "What gaveyou the idea this was a hospital?"

"I assumed it, " 402 said. 

"You assumed wrong. This is a prison. "

402 remembered his dream of the murdered man. Dream or memory?Desperately he called after the guard. "What was my offense? What did Ido?"

"You'll find out, " the guard said. 

"When?"

"After we land, " the guard said. "Now get ready for assembly. "

He walked away. 402 sat down on the bed and tried to think. He hadlearned a few things. He was in a prison, and the prison was going toland. What did that mean? Why did a prison have to land? And what was anassembly?

 * * * * *

402 had only a confused idea of what happened next. An unmeasurableamount of time passed. He was sitting on his bed, trying to piecetogether facts about himself. He had an impression of bells ringing. Andthen the door of his cell flew open. 

Why was that? What did it mean?

402 walked to the door and peered into the corridor. He was veryexcited, but he didn't want to leave the security of his cell. Hewaited, and the guard came up. 

"All right, now, " the guard said, "No one's going to hurt you. Gostraight down the corridor. "

The guard pushed him gently. 402 walked down the corridor. He saw othercell doors opening, other men coming into the corridor. It was a thinstream at first; but as he continued walking, more and more men crowdedinto the passageway. Most of them looked bewildered, and none of themtalked. The only words were from the guards:

"Move along now, keep on moving, straight ahead. "

They were headed into a large circular auditorium. Looking around, 402saw that a balcony ran around the room, and armed guards were stationedevery few yards along it. Their presence seemed unnecessary; these cowedand bewildered men weren't going to stage a revolt. Still, he supposedthe grim-faced guards had a symbolic value. They reminded the newlyawakened men of the most important fact of their lives: that they wereprisoners. 

After a few minutes, a man in a somber uniform stepped out on thebalcony. He held up his hand for attention, although the prisoners werealready watching him fixedly. Then, though he had no visible means ofamplification, his voice boomed hollowly through the auditorium. 

"This is an indoctrination talk, " he said. "Listen carefully and try toabsorb what I am about to tell you. These facts will be very importantfor your existence. "

The prisoners watched him. The speaker said, "All of you have, withinthe last hour, awakened in your cells. You have discovered that youcannot remember your former lives--not even your names. All you possessis a meager store of generalized knowledge; enough to keep you in touchwith reality. 

"I will not add to your knowledge. All of you, back on Earth, werevicious and depraved criminals. You were people of the worst sort, menwho had forfeited any right to consideration by the State. In a lessenlightened age, you would have been executed. In our age, you have beendeported. "

The speaker held out his hands to quiet the murmur that ran through theauditorium. He said, "All of you are criminals. And all of you have onething in common: an inability to obey the basic obligatory rules ofhuman society. Those rules are necessary for civilization to function. By disobeying them, you have committed crimes against all mankind. Therefore mankind rejects you. You are grit in the machinery ofcivilization, and you have been sent to a world where your own sort isking. Here you can make your own rules, and die by them. Here is thefreedom you lusted for; the uncontained and self-destroying freedom of acancerous growth. "

The speaker wiped his forehead and glared earnestly at the prisoners. "But perhaps, " he said, "a rehabilitation is possible for some of you. Omega, the planet to which we are going, is _your_ planet, a place ruledentirely by prisoners. It is a world where you could begin again, withno prejudices against you, with a clean record! Your past lives areforgotten. Don't try to remember them. Such memories would serve only torestimulate your criminal tendencies. Consider yourselves born afresh asof the moment of awakening in your cells. "

The speaker's slow, measured words had a certain hypnotic quality. 402listened, his eyes slightly unfocused and fixed upon the speaker's paleforehead. 

"A new world, " the speaker was saying. "You are reborn--but with thenecessary consciousness of sin. Without it, you would be unable tocombat the evil inherent in your personalities. Remember that. Rememberthat there is no escape and no return. Guardships armed with the latestbeam weapons patrol the skies of Omega day and night. These ships aredesigned to obliterate anything that rises more than five hundred feetabove the surface of the planet--an invincible barrier through which noprisoner can ever pass. Accommodate yourselves to these facts. Theyconstitute the rules which must govern your lives. Think about whatI've said. And now stand by for landing. "

The speaker left the balcony. For a while, the prisoners simply staredat the spot where he had been. Then, tentatively, a murmur ofconversation began. After a while it died away. There was nothing totalk about. The prisoners, without memory of the past, had nothing uponwhich to base a speculation of the future. Personalities could not beexchanged, for those personalities were newly emerged and stillundefined. 

They sat in silence, uncommunicative men who had been too long insolitary confinement. The guards on the balcony stood like statues, remote and impersonal. And then the faintest tremor ran through thefloor of the auditorium. 

The tremor came again; then it changed into a definite vibration. 402felt heavier, as though an invisible weight were pressing against hishead and shoulders. 

A loudspeaker voice called out, "Attention! The ship is now landing onOmega. We will disembark shortly. "

 * * * * *

The last vibration died away, and the floor beneath them gave a slightlurch. The prisoners, still silent and dazed, were formed into a longline and marched out of the auditorium. Flanked by guards, they wentdown a corridor which stretched on interminably. From it, 402 began toget some idea of the size of the ship. 

Far ahead, he could see a patch of sunlight which shone brightly againstthe pale illumination of the corridor. His section of the long shufflingline reached the sunlight, and 402 saw that it came from an openhatchway through which the prisoners were passing. 

In his turn, 402 went through the hatchway, climbed down a longstairway, and found himself on solid ground. He was standing in an open, sunlit square. Guards were forming the disembarked prisoners into files;on all sides, 402 could see a crowd of spectators watching. 

A loudspeaker voice boomed, "Answer when your number is called. Youridentity will now be revealed to you. Answer promptly when your numberis called. "

402 felt weak and very tired. Not even his identity could interest himnow. All he wanted to do was lie down, to sleep, to have a chance tothink about his situation. He looked around and took casual note of thehuge starcraft behind him, of the guards, the spectators. Overhead, hesaw black dots moving against a blue sky. At first he thought they werebirds. Then, looking closer, he saw they were guardships. He wasn'tparticularly interested in them. 

"Number 1! Speak out!"

"Here, " a voice answered. 

"Number 1, your name is Wayn Southholder. Age 34, blood type A-L2, IndexAR-431-C. Guilty of treason. "

When the voice had finished, a loud cheer came up from the crowd. Theywere applauding the prisoner's traitorous actions, and welcoming him toOmega. 

The names were read down the list, and 402, drowsy in the sunshine, dozed on his feet and listened to the crimes of murder, credit theft, deviationalism, and mutantism. At last his number was called. 

"Number 402. "

"Here. "

"Number 402, your name is Will Barrent. Age 27, blood type O-L3, IndexJX-221-R. Guilty of murder. "

The crowd cheered, but 402 scarcely heard them. He was trying toaccustom himself to the idea of having a name. A real name instead of anumber. Will Barrent. He hoped he wouldn't forget it. He repeated thename to himself over and over again, and almost missed the lastannouncement from the ship's loudspeaker. 

"The new men are now released upon Omega. You will be given temporaryhousing at Square A-2. Be cautious and circumspect in your words andactions. Watch, listen, and learn. The law requires me to tell you thatthe average life expectancy on Omega is approximately three Earthyears. "

It took a while for those last words to take effect on Barrent. He wasstill contemplating the novelty of having a name. He hadn't consideredany of the implications of being a murderer on an underworld planet. 

Chapter Two

The new prisoners were led to a row of barracks at Square A-2. Therewere nearly five hundred of them. They were not yet men; they wereentities whose true memories extended barely an hour in time. Sitting ontheir bunks, the newborns looked curiously at their bodies, examinedwith sharp interest their hands and feet. They stared at each other, andsaw their formlessness mirrored in each other's eyes. They were not yetmen; but they were not children either. Certain abstractions remained, and the ghosts of memories. Maturation came quickly, born of old habitpatterns and personality traits, retained in the broken threads of theirformer lives on Earth. 

The new men clung to the vague recollections of concepts, ideas, rules. Within a few hours, their phlegmatic blandness had begun to pass. Theywere becoming men now. Individuals. Out of a dazed and superficialconformity, sharp differences began to emerge. Character reasserteditself, and the five hundred began to discover what they were. 

Will Barrent stood in line for a look at himself in the barracks mirror. When his turn came, he saw the reflection of a thin-faced, narrow-nosed, pleasant-looking young man with straight brown hair. The young man had aresolute, honest, unexceptional face, unmarked by any strong passion. Barrent turned away disappointed; it was the face of a stranger. 

Later, examining himself more closely, he could find no scars oranything else to distinguish his body from a thousand other bodies. Hishands were uncallused. He was wiry rather than muscular. He wonderedwhat sort of work he had done on Earth. 

Murder?

He frowned. He wasn't ready to accept that. 

A man tapped him on the shoulder. "How you feeling?"

Barrent turned and saw a large, thick-shouldered red-haired man standingbeside him. 

"Pretty good, " Barrent said. "You were in line behind me, weren't you?"

"That's right. Number 401. Name's Danis Foeren. "

Barrent introduced himself. 

"Your crime?" Foeren asked. 

"Murder. "

Foeren nodded, looking impressed. "Me, I'm a forger. Wouldn't think itto look at my hands. " He held out two massive paws covered with sparsered hair. "But the skill's there. My hands remembered before any otherpart of me. On the ship I sat in my cell and looked at my hands. Theyitched. They wanted to be off and doing things. But the rest of mecouldn't remember what. "

"What did you do?" Barrent asked. 

"I closed my eyes and let my hands take over, " Foeren said. "First thingI knew, they were up and picking the lock of the cell. " He held up hishuge hands and looked at them admiringly. "Clever little devils!"

"Picking the lock?" Barrent asked. "But I thought you were a forger. "

"Well, now, " Foeren said, "forgery was my main line. But a pair ofskilled hands can do almost anything. I suspect that I was only _caught_for forgery; but I might also have been a safeman. My hands know toomuch for just a forger. "

"You've found out more about yourself than I have, " Barrent said. "All Ihave to start with is a dream. "

"Well, that's a start, " Foeren said. "There must be ways of finding outmore. The important thing is, we're on Omega. "

"Agreed, " Barrent said sourly. 

"Nothing wrong with that, " Foeren said. "Didn't you hear what the mansaid? This is our planet!"

"With an average life expectancy of three Earth years, " Barrent remindedhim. 

"That's probably just scare talk, " Foeren said. "I wouldn't believestuff like that from a guard. The big thing is, we have our own planet. You heard what they said. 'Earth rejects us. ' Nova Earth! Who needs her?We've our own planet here. A whole planet, Barrent! We're free!"

 * * * * *

Another man said, "That's right, friend. " He was small, furtive-eyed, and ingratiatingly friendly. "My name is Joe, " he told them. "Actually, the name is Joao; but I prefer the archaic form with its flavor of moregracious times. Gentlemen, I couldn't help overhearing yourconversation, and I agree most heartily with our red-haired friend. Consider the possibilities! Earth has cast us aside? Excellent! We arebetter off without her. We are all equal here, free men in a freesociety. No uniforms, no guards, no soldiers. Just repentant formercriminals who want to live in peace. "

"What did they get you for?" Barrent asked. 

"They said I was a credit thief, " Joe said. "I'm ashamed to admit that Ican't remember what a credit thief is. But perhaps it'll come back tome. "

"Maybe the authorities have some sort of memory retraining system, "Foeren said. 

"Authorities?" Joe said indignantly. "What do you mean, authorities?This is _our_ planet. We're all equal here. By definition, there can'tbe any authorities. No, friends, we left all that nonsense behind onEarth. Here we--"

He stopped abruptly. The barracks' door had opened and a man walked in. He was evidently an older resident of Omega since he lacked the grayprison uniform. He was fat, and dressed in garish yellow and blueclothing. On a belt around his ample waist he carried a holstered pistoland a knife. He stood just inside the doorway, his hands on his hips, glaring at the new arrivals. 

"Well?" he said. "Don't you new men recognize a Quaestor? Stand up!"

None of the men moved. 

The Quaestor's face went scarlet. "I guess I'll have to teach you alittle respect. "

Even before he had taken his weapon from its holster, the new arrivalshad scrambled to their feet. The Quaestor looked at them with a faintlyregretful air and pushed the weapon back in its holster. 

"The first thing you men better learn, " the Quaestor said, "is yourstatus on Omega. Your status is _nowhere_. You're peons, and that meansyou're _nothing_. "

He waited a moment and then said, "Now pay attention, peons. You areabout to be instructed in your duties. "

Chapter Three

"The first thing you new men should understand, " the Quaestor said, "isjust exactly what you are. That's very important. And I'll tell you whatyou are. You're _peons_. You're the lowest of the low. You're_statusless_. There's nothing lower except mutants, and they aren'treally human. Any questions?"

The Quaestor waited. When there were no questions, he said, "I'vedefined what _you_ are. From that, we'll proceed to a basicunderstanding of what everybody else on Omega is. First of all, _everybody_ is more important than you; but some are more important thanothers. Next above you in rank is the Resident, who hardly counts formore than any of you, and then there's the Free Citizen. He wears a grayfinger ring of status, and his clothes are black. He isn't importanteither, but he's much more important than you. With luck, some of youmay become Free Citizens. 

"Next are the Privileged Classes, all distinguished by variousrecognition symbols according to rank--such as the golden earrings, forexample, of the Hadji class. Eventually you'll learn all the marks andprerogatives of the various ranks and degrees. I might also mention thepriests. Even though they're not of Privileged rank, they're grantedcertain immunities and rights. Have I made myself clear?"

Everyone in the barracks mumbled assent. The Quaestor continued, "Now wecome to the subject of deportment when meeting anyone of superior rank. As peons, you are obliged to greet a Free Citizen by his full title, ina respectful manner. With Privileged ranks such as Hadjis you speak onlywhen spoken to, and then you stand with eyes downcast and hands claspedin front of you. You do not leave the presence of a Privileged Citizenuntil permission has been granted. You do not sit in his company underany circumstances. Understood? There is much more to be learned. Myoffice of Quaestor, for example, comes under the classification of FreeCitizen, but carries certain of the prerogatives of Privilege. "

The Quaestor glared at the men to make sure they understood. "Thisbarracks is your temporary home. I have drawn up a chart to show whichmen sweep, which wash, and so forth. You may question me at anytime; butfoolish or impertinent questions can be punished by mutilation or death. Just remember that you are the lowest of the low. If you bear that inmind, you might be able to stay alive. "

The Quaestor stood in silence for a few moments. Then he said, "Over thenext few days, you'll all be given various assignments. Some of youwill go to the germanium mines, some to the fishing fleet, some will beapprenticed to various trades. In the meantime, you're free to lookaround Tetrahyde. "

When the men looked blank, the Quaestor explained, "Tetrahyde is thename of the city you're in. It's the largest city on Omega. " He thoughtfor a moment. "In fact, it's the only city on Omega. "

"What does the name Tetrahyde mean?" Joe asked. 

"How should I know?" the Quaestor said, scowling. "I suppose it's one ofthose old Earth names the skrenners are always coming up with. Anyhow, just watch your step when you enter it. "

"Why?" Barrent asked. 

The Quaestor grinned. "That, peon, is something you'll have to find outfor yourself. " He turned and strode from the barracks. 

When he had gone, Barrent went to the window. From it he could see adeserted square and, beyond, the streets of Tetrahyde. 

"You thinking of going out there?" Joe asked. 

"Certainly I am, " Barrent said. "Coming with me?"

The little credit thief shook his head. "I don't think it's safe. "

"Foeren, how about you?"

"I don't like it either, " Foeren said. "Might be better to stay aroundthe barracks for a while. "

"That's ridiculous, " Barrent said. "It's _our_ city now. Isn't anyonecoming with me?"

Looking uncomfortable, Foeren hunched his big shoulders and shook hishead. Joe shrugged and lay back on his cot. The rest of the new mendidn't even look up. 

"Very well, " Barrent said. "I'll give you a full report later. " Hewaited a moment longer in case someone changed his mind, then went outthe door. 

 * * * * *

The city of Tetrahyde was a collection of buildings sprawled along anarrow peninsula which jutted into a sluggish gray sea. The peninsula'slandward side was contained by a high stone wall, pierced with gates andguarded by sentries. Its largest building was the Arena, used once ayear for the Games. Near the Arena was a small cluster of governmentbuildings. 

Barrent walked along the narrow streets, staring around him, trying toget some idea of what his new home was like. The winding, unpaved roadsand dark, weatherbeaten houses stirred an elusive tag-end of memory inhim. He had seen a place like this on Earth, but he couldn't rememberanything about it. The recollection was as tantalizing as an itch; buthe couldn't locate its source. 

Past the Arena, he came into the main business district of Tetrahyde. Fascinated, he read the store signs: UNLICENSED DOCTOR--ABORTIONSPERFORMED WHILE-U-WAIT. Further on, DISBARRED LAWYER. POLITICAL PULL!

This seemed vaguely wrong to Barrent. He walked further, past storesadvertising stolen goods, past a little shop that announced: MINDREADING! FULL STAFF OF SKRENNING MUTANTS! YOUR PAST ON EARTH REVEALED!

Barrent was tempted to go in. But he remembered that he hadn't anymoney; and Omega seemed like the sort of place that put a high value onmoney. 

He turned down a side street, walked by several restaurants, and came toa large building called THE POISON INSTITUTE (_Easy Terms. Up to 3 Yearsto Pay. Satisfaction Guaranteed or Your Money Back_). Next door to itwas THE ASSASSIN'S GUILD, _Local 452_. 

On the basis of the indoctrination talk on the prison ship, Barrent hadexpected Omega to be dedicated to the rehabilitation of criminals. Tojudge by the store signs, this simply wasn't so; or if it was, rehabilitation took some very strange forms. He walked on more slowly, deep in thought. 

Then he noticed that people were moving out of his way. They glanced athim and ducked in doorways and stores. An elderly woman took one look athim and ran. 

What was wrong? Could it be his prison uniform? No, the people of Omegahad seen many of those. What was it, then?

The street was almost deserted. A shopkeeper near him was hurriedlyswinging steel shutters over his display of fencing equipment. 

"What's the matter?" Barrent asked him. "What's going on?"

"Are you out of your head?" the shopkeeper said. "It's Landing Day!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Landing Day!" the shopkeeper said. "The day the prison ship landed. Getback to your barracks, you idiot!"

He slammed the last steel shutter into place and locked it. Barrent felta sudden cold touch of fear. Something was very wrong. He had better getback in a hurry. It had been stupid of him not to find out more aboutOmegan customs before.... 

Three men were walking down the street toward him. They were welldressed, and each wore the small golden Hadji earring in his left ear. All three men carried sidearms. 

Barrent started to walk away from them. One of the men shouted, "Stop, peon!"

Barrent saw that the man's hand was dangling near his gun. He stoppedand said, "What's the matter?"

"It's Landing Day, " the man said. He looked at his friends. "Well, whogets him first?"

"We'll choose. "

"Here's a coin. "

"No, a show of fingers. "

"Ready? One, two, three!"

"He's mine, " said the Hadji on the left. His friends moved back as hedrew his sidearm. 

"Wait!" Barrent called out. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to shoot you, " the man said. 

"But why?"

The man smiled. "Because it's a Hadji privilege. On every Landing Day, we have the right to shoot down any new peon who leaves his barracksarea. "

"But I wasn't told!"

"Of course not, " the man said. "If you new men were told, none of youwould leave your barracks on Landing Day. And that would spoil all thefun. "

He took aim. 

Barrent reacted instantaneously. He threw himself to the ground as theHadji fired, heard a hiss, and saw a jagged heatburn score the brickbuilding next to which he had been standing. 

"My turn now, " one of the men said. 

"Sorry, old man, I believe it's mine. "

"Seniority, dear friend, has its privileges. Stand clear. "

Before the next man could take aim, Barrent was on his feet and running. The sharply winding street protected him for the moment, but he couldhear the sounds of his pursuers behind him. They were running at an easystride, almost a fast walk, as if they were completely sure of theirprey. Barrent put on a burst of speed, turned down a side street, andknew immediately he had made a mistake. He was facing a dead end. TheHadjis, moving at an easy pace, were coming up behind him. 

Barrent looked wildly around. Store fronts here were all locked andshuttered. There was nowhere he could climb to, no place to hide. 

And then he saw an open door halfway down the block in the direction ofhis pursuers. He had run right by it. A sign protruding from thebuilding above the doorway said THE VICTIM'S PROTECTIVE SOCIETY. That'sfor me, Barrent thought. 

He sprinted for it, running almost under the noses of the startledHadjis. A single gun blast scorched the ground under his heels; then hehad reached the doorway and flung himself inside. 

He scrambled to his feet. His pursuers had not followed him; he couldstill hear their voices in the street, amiably arguing questions ofprecedence. Barrent realized he had entered some sort of sanctuary. 

He was in a large, brightly lighted room. Several ragged men weresitting on a bench near the door, laughing at a private joke. A littlefurther down, a dark-haired girl sat and watched Barrent with wide, unblinking green eyes. At the far end of the room was a desk with a mansitting behind it. The man beckoned to Barrent. 

He walked up to the desk. The man behind it was short and bespectacled. He smiled encouragingly, waiting for Barrent to speak. 

"This is the Victim's Protective Society?" Barrent asked. 

"Quite correct, sir, " the man said. "I am Rondolp Frendlyer, presidentof this nonprofit organization. Could I be of service?"

"You certainly could, " Barrent said. "I'm practically a victim. "

"I knew that just by looking at you, " Frendlyer said, smiling warmly. "You have a certain _victim_ look; a mixture of fear and uncertaintywith just a suggestion of vulnerability thrown in. It's quiteunmistakable. "

"That's very interesting, " Barrent said, glancing toward the door andwondering how long his sanctuary would be respected. "Mr. Frendlyer, I'mnot a member of your organization--"

"That doesn't matter, " Frendlyer said. "Membership in our group isnecessarily spontaneous. One joins when the occasion arises. Ourintention is to protect the inalienable rights of all victims. "

"Yes, sir. Well, there are three men outside trying to kill me. "

"I see, " Mr. Frendlyer said. He opened a drawer and took out a largebook. He flipped through it quickly and found the reference he wanted. "Tell me, did you ascertain the status of these men?"

"I believe they were Hadjis, " Barrent said. "Each of them had a littlegold earring in his left ear. "

"Quite right, " Mr. Frendlyer said. "And today is Landing Day. You cameoff the ship that landed today, and have been classified a peon. Is thatcorrect?"

"Yes, it is, " Barrent said. 

"Then I'm happy to say that everything is in order. The Landing Day Huntends at sundown. You can leave here with knowledge that everything iscorrect and that your rights are in no way being violated. "

"Leave here? After sundown, you mean. "

Mr. Frendlyer shook his head and smiled sadly. "I'm afraid not. According to the law, you must leave here at once. "

"But they'll kill me!"

"That's very true, " Frendlyer said. "Unfortunately, it can't be helped. A victim, by definition, is one who is to be killed. "

"I thought this was a protective organization. "

"It is. But we protect _rights_, not victims. Your rights are not beingviolated. The Hadjis have the privilege of killing you on Landing Day, at any time before sundown, if you are not in your barracks area. You, Imight add, have the right to kill anyone who tries to kill you. "

"I don't have a weapon, " Barrent said. 

"Victims never do, " Frendlyer said. "It makes all the difference, doesn't it? But weapon or not, I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. "

Barrent could still hear the Hadjis' lazy voices in the street. Heasked, "Have you a rear door?"

"Sorry. "

"Then I'll simply not leave. "

Still smiling, Mr. Frendlyer opened a drawer and took out a gun. Hepointed it at Barrent, and said, "You really must leave. You can takeyour chances with the Hadjis, or you can die right here with no chanceat all. "

"Lend me your gun, " Barrent said. 

"It isn't allowed, " Frendlyer told him. "Can't have victims runningaround with weapons, you know. It would upset things. " He clicked offthe safety. "Are you leaving?"

Barrent calculated his chances of diving across the desk for the gun, and decided he would never make it. He turned and walked slowly to thedoor. The ragged men were still laughing together. The dark-haired girlhad risen from the bench and was standing near the doorway. As he cameclose to her, Barrent noticed that she was very lovely. He wondered whatcrime had dictated her expulsion from Earth. 

As he passed her, he felt something hard pressed into his ribs. Hereached for it, and found he was holding a small, efficient-looking gun. 

"Luck, " the girl said. "I hope you know how to use it. "

Barrent nodded his thanks. He wasn't sure he knew how; but he was goingto find out. 

Chapter Four

The street was deserted except for the three Hadjis, who stood abouttwenty yards away, conversing quietly. As Barrent came through thedoorway, two of the men moved back; the third, his sidearm negligentlylowered, stepped forward. When he saw that Barrent was armed he quicklybrought his gun into firing position. 

Barrent flung himself to the ground and pressed the trigger of hisunfamiliar weapon. He felt it vibrate in his hand, and saw the Hadji'shead and shoulders turn black and begin to crumble. Before he could takeaim at the other men, Barrent's gun was wrenched violently from hishand. The Hadji's dying shot had creased the end of the muzzle. 

Desperately Barrent dived for the gun, knowing he could never reach itin time. His skin pricked in expectation of the killing shot. He rolledto his gun, still miraculously alive, and took aim at the nearestHadji. 

Just in time, he checked himself from firing. The Hadjis had holsteredtheir weapons. One of them was saying, "Poor old Draken. He simply couldnot learn to take quick aim. "

"Lack of practice, " the other man said. "Draken never spent much time onthe firing range. "

"Well, if you ask me, it's a very good object lesson. One mustn't getout of practice. "

"And, " the other man said, "one mustn't underestimate even a peon. " Helooked at Barrent. "Nice shooting, fellow. "

"Yes, very nice indeed, " the other man said. "It's difficult to fire ahandgun accurately while in motion. "

Barrent got to his feet shakily, still holding the girl's weapon, prepared to fire at the first suspicious movement from the Hadjis. Butthey weren't moving suspiciously. They seemed to regard the entireincident as closed. 

"What happens now?" Barrent asked. 

"Nothing, " one of the Hadjis said. "On Landing Day, one kill is all thatany man or hunting party is allowed. After that, you're out of thehunt. "

"It's really a very unimportant holiday, " the other man said. "Not likethe Games or the Lottery. "

"All that remains for you to do, " the first man said, "is to go to theRegistration Office and collect your inheritance. "

"My _what_?"

"Your inheritance, " the Hadji said patiently. "You're entitled to theentire estate of your victim. In Draken's case, I'm sorry to say, itdoesn't amount to very much. "

"He never was a good businessman, " the other said sadly. "Still, it'llgive you a little something to start life with. And since you've made anauthorized kill--even though a highly unusual one--you move upward instatus. You become a Free Citizen. "

People had come back into the streets, and shopkeepers were unlockingtheir steel shutters. A truck marked BODY DISPOSAL UNIT 5 drove up, andfour uniformed men took away Draken's body. The normal life of Tetrahydehad begun again. This, more than any assurances from the Hadjis, toldBarrent that the moment for murder was over. He put the girl's weapon inhis pocket. 

"The Registration Office is over this way, " one of the Hadjis told him. "We'll act as your witnesses. "

Barrent still had only a limited understanding of the situation. Butsince things were suddenly going his way, he decided to accept whateverhappened without question. There would be plenty of time later to findout where he stood. 

Accompanied by the Hadjis, he went to the Registration Office onGunpoint Square. There a bored clerk heard the entire story, producedDraken's business papers, and pasted Barrent's name over Draken's. Barrent noticed that several other names had been pasted over. Thereseemed to be a fast turnover of businesses in Tetrahyde. 

He found that he was now the owner of an antidote shop at 3 BlazerBoulevard. 

The business papers also officially recognized Barrent's new rank as aFree Citizen. The clerk gave him a ring of status, made of gunmetal, andadvised him to change into Citizen's clothing as soon as possible if hewished to avoid unpleasant incidents. 

Outside, the Hadjis wished him luck. Barrent decided to see what his newbusiness was like. 

 * * * * *

Blazer Boulevard was a short alley running between two streets. Near themiddle of it was a store front with a sign which read: ANTIDOTE SHOP. Beneath that it read: _Specifics for every poison, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. Carry our handy Do It Yourself Survival Kit. Twenty-three antidotes in one pocket-sized container!_

Barrent opened the door and went in. Behind a low counter he sawceiling-high shelves stocked with labeled bottles, cans and cartons, andsquare glass jars containing odd bits of leaves, twigs, and fungus. Inback of the counter was a small shelf of books with titles like _QuickDiagnosis in Acute Poisoning Cases_; _The Arsenic Family_; and _ThePermutations of Henbane_. 

It was quite obvious that poisoning played a large part in the dailylife of Omega. Here was a store--and presumably there were others--whosesole purpose was to dispense antidotes. Barrent thought about this anddecided that he had inherited a strange but honorable business. He wouldstudy the books and find out how an antidote shop was run. 

The store had a back apartment with a living room, bedroom, and kitchen. In one of the closets, Barrent found a badly made suit of Citizen black, into which he changed. He took the girl's weapon from the pocket of hisprison ship uniform, weighed it in his hand for a moment, then put itinto a pocket of his new suit. He left the store and found his way backto the Victim's Protective Society. 

 * * * * *

The door was still open, and the three ragged men were still sitting onthe bench. They weren't laughing now. Their long wait seemed to havetired them. At the other end of the room, Mr. Frendlyer was seatedbehind his desk, reading through a thick pile of papers. There was nosign of the girl. 

Barrent walked to the desk, and Frendlyer stood up to greet him. 

"My congratulations!" Frendlyer said. "Dear fellow, my very warmestcongratulations. That was a splendid bit of shooting. And in motion, too!"

"Thank you, " Barrent said. "The reason I came back here--"

"I know why, " Frendlyer said. "You wished to be advised of your rightsand obligations as a Free Citizen. What could be more natural? If youtake a seat on that bench, I'll be with you in--"

"I didn't come here for that, " Barrent said. "I want to find out aboutmy rights and obligations, of course. But right now, I want to find thatgirl. "

"Girl?"

"She was sitting on the bench when I came in. She was the one who gaveme the gun. "

Mr. Frendlyer looked astonished. "Citizen, you must be laboring under amisapprehension. There has been no woman in this office all day. "

"She was sitting on the bench near those three men. A very attractivedark-haired girl. You must have noticed her. "

"I would certainly have noticed her if she had been here, " Frendlyersaid, winking. "But as I said before, no woman has entered thesepremises today. "

Barrent glared at him and pulled the gun out of his pocket. "In thatcase, how did I get this?"

"I lent it to you, " Frendlyer said. "I'm glad you were able to use itsuccessfully, but now I would appreciate its return. "

"You're lying, " Barrent said, taking a firm grip on the weapon. "Let'sask those men. "

He walked over to the bench with Frendlyer close behind him. He caughtthe attention of the man who had been sitting nearest the girl and askedhim, "Where did the girl go?"

The man lifted a sullen, unshaven face and said, "What girl you talkingabout, Citizen?"

"The one who was sitting right here. "

"I didn't notice nobody. Rafeel, you see a female on this bench?"

"Not me, " Rafeel said. "And I been sitting here continuous since tenthis morning. "

"I didn't see her neither, " the third man said. "And I got sharp eyes. "

Barrent turned back to Frendlyer. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I've told you the simple truth, " Frendlyer said. "There has been nogirl in here all day. I lent you the gun, as is my privilege asPresident of the Victim's Protective Society. I would now appreciate itsreturn. "

"No, " Barrent said. "I'm keeping the gun until I find the girl. "

"That might not be wise, " Frendlyer said. He hastily added, "Thievery, Imean, is not condoned under these circumstances. "

"I'll take my chances on that, " Barrent said. He turned and left theVictim's Protective Society. 

Chapter Five

Barrent needed time to recuperate from his violent entry into Omeganlife. Starting from the helpless state of a newborn, he had movedthrough murder to the ownership of an antidote shop. From a forgottenpast on a planet called Earth, he had been catapulted into a dubiouspresent in a world full of criminals. He had gotten a glimpse of acomplex class structure, and a hint of an institutionalized program ofmurder. He had discovered in himself a certain measure of self-reliance, and a surprising quickness with a gun. He knew there was a great dealmore to find out about Omega, Earth, and himself. He hoped he would livelong enough to make the necessary discoveries. 

First things first. He had to earn a living. To do so, he had to findout about poisons and antidotes. 

He moved into the apartment in back of his store and began reading thebooks left by the late Hadji Draken. 

The literature on poisons was fascinating. There were the vegetablepoisons known on Earth, such as hellebore, setterwort, deadlynightshade, and the yew tree. He learned about the action ofhemlock--its preliminary intoxication and its final convulsions. Therewas prussic acid poisoning from almonds and digitalin poisoning frompurple foxglove. There was the awesome efficiency of wolfsbane with itsdeadly store of aconite. There were the fungi such as the amanitatoadstools and fly agaric, not to mention the purely Omegan vegetablepoisons like redcup, flowering lily, and amortalis. 

But the vegetable poisons, although dismayingly numerous, were onlyone part of his studies. He had to consider the animals of Earth, sea, and air, the several species of deadly spiders, the snakes, scorpions, and giant wasps. There was an imposing array of metallicpoisons such as arsenic, mercury, and bismuth. There were the commonercorrosives--nitric, hydrochloric, phosphoric, and sulphuric acid. Andthere were the poisons distilled or extracted from various sources, among which were strychnine, formic acid, hyoscyamine, and belladonna. 

Each of the poisons had one or more antidotes listed; but thosecomplicated, cautiously worded formulas, Barrent suspected, werefrequently unsuccessful. To make matters more difficult, the efficacy ofan antidote seemed to depend upon a correct diagnosis of the poisoningagent. And too often the symptoms produced by one poison resembled thoseof another. 

Barrent pondered these problems while he studied his books. In themeantime, with considerable nervousness, he served his first customers. 

He found that many of his fears were ungrounded. In spite of the dozensof lethal substances recommended by the Poison Institute, most poisonersstuck single-mindedly to arsenic or strychnine. They were cheap, sure, and very painful. Prussic acid had a readily discernible odor, mercurywas difficult to introduce into the system, and the corrosives, althoughgratifyingly spectacular, were dangerous to the user. Wolfsbane and flyagaric were excellent, of course; deadly nightshade could not bediscounted, and the amanita toadstool had its own macabre charm. Butthese were the poisons of an older, more leisurely age. The impatientyounger generation--and especially the women, who made up nearly 90 percent of the poisoners on Omega--were satisfied with plain arsenic orstrychnine, as the occasion and opportunity demanded. 

Omegan women were conservatives. They simply weren't interested in thenever-ending refinements of the poisoner's art. Means didn't interestthem; only ends, as quickly and as cheaply as possible. Omegan womenwere noted for their common sense. Although the eager theoreticians atthe Poison Institute tried to sell dubious mixtures of Contact Poison orThree Day Mold, and worked hard to put across complex, haywire schemesinvolving wasps, concealed needles, and double glasses, they found fewtakers among women. Simple arsenic and fast-acting strychnine continuedto be the mainstays of the poison trade. 

This quite naturally simplified Barrent's work. His remedies--immediateregurgitation, lavage, neutralizing agent--were easy enough to master. 

He encountered some difficulty with men who refused to believe they hadbeen poisoned by anything so commonplace as arsenic or strychnine. Forthose cases, Barrent prescribed a variety of roots, herbs, twigs, leaves, and a minute homeopathic dose of poison. But he invariablypreceded these with regurgitation, lavage, and neutralizing agent. 

After he was settled, Barrent received a visit from Danis Foeren andJoe. Foeren had a temporary job on the docks unloading fishing boats. Joe had organized a nightly pokra game among the government workers ofTetrahyde. Neither man had moved much in status; with no kills to theircredit, they had progressed only as far as Second Class Resident. Theywere nervous about meeting socially with a Free Citizen, but Barrent putthem at ease. They were the only friends he had on Omega, and he had nointention of losing them over a question of social position. 

Barrent was unable to learn very much from them about the laws andcustoms of Tetrahyde. Even Joe hadn't been able to find out anythingdefinite from his friends in government service. On Omega, the law waskept secret. Older residents used their knowledge of the law to enforcetheir rule over the newcomers. This system was condoned and reinforcedby the doctrine of the inequality of all men, which lay at the heart ofthe Omegan legal system. Through planned inequality and enforcedignorance, power and status remained in the hands of the olderresidents. 

Of course, all social movement upward couldn't be stopped. But it couldbe retarded, discouraged, and made exceedingly dangerous. The way oneencountered the laws and customs of Omega was through a risky process oftrial and error. 

Although the Antidote Shop took up most of his time, Barrent persistedin his efforts to locate the girl. He was unable to find a hint that sheeven existed. 

He became friendly with the shopkeepers on either side of him. One ofthem, Demond Harrisbourg, was a jaunty, moustached young man whooperated a food store. It was a mundane and slightly ridiculous line ofwork; but, as Harrisbourg explained, even criminals must eat. And thisnecessitated farmers, processors, packagers, and food stores. Harrisbourg contended that his business was in no way inferior to themore indigenous Omegan industries centered around violent death. Besides, Harrisbourg's wife's uncle was a Minister of Public Works. Through him, Harrisbourg expected to receive a murder certificate. Withthis all-important document, he could make his six-months kill and moveupward to the status of Privileged Citizen. 

Barrent nodded his agreement. But he wondered if Harrisbourg's wife, athin, restless woman, wouldn't decide to poison him first. She appearedto be dissatisfied with her husband; and divorce was forbidden on Omega. 

His other neighbor, Tem Rend, was a lanky, cheerful man in his earlyforties. He had a heat scar which ran from just beneath his left eardown almost to the corner of his mouth, a souvenir given him by astatus-seeking hopeful. The hopeful had picked on the wrong man. TemRend owned a weapon shop, practiced constantly, and always carried thearticles of his trade with him. According to witnesses, he had performedthe counterkill in exemplary fashion. Tem's dream was to become a memberof the Assassin's Guild. His application was on file with that ancientand austere organization, and he had a chance of being accepted withinthe month. 

Barrent bought a sidearm from him. On Rend's advice, he chose aJamiason-Tyre needlebeam. It was faster and more accurate than anyprojectile weapon, and it transmitted the same shock-power as a heavycaliber bullet. To be sure, it hadn't the spread of heat weapons such asthe Hadjis used, which could kill within six inches of their target. Butwide-range beamers encouraged inaccuracy. They were messy, carelessweapons which reinforced careless traits. Anyone could fire a heat gun;but to use a needlebeam effectively, you had to practice constantly. Andpractice paid off. A good needlebeam man was more than a match for anytwo widebeam gunmen. 

Barrent took this advice to heart, coming, as it did, from an apprenticeassassin and the owner of a weapon shop. He put in long hours on Rend'scellar firing range, sharpening his reflexes, getting used to theQuik-Thro holster. 

There was a lot to do and a tremendous amount to learn, just in order tosurvive. Barrent didn't mind hard work as long as it was for aworthwhile goal. He hoped things would stay quiet for a while so hecould catch up to the older inhabitants. 

But things never stayed quiet in Omega. 

One day, late in the afternoon as he was closing up, Barrent received anunusual-looking caller. He was a man in his fifties, heavy-set, with astern, swarthy face. He wore a red ankle-length robe and sandals. Aroundhis waist was a rawhide belt from which dangled a small black book and ared-handled dagger. There was an air of unusual force and authorityabout him. Barrent was unable to tell his status. 

Barrent said, "I was just closing up, sir. But if there's anything youwish to buy--"

"I did not come here to buy, " the caller said. He permitted himself afaint smile. "I came here to sell. "

"Sell?"

"I am a priest, " the man said. "You are a newcomer to my district. Ihaven't noticed you at services. "

"I hadn't known anything about--"

The priest held up his hand. "Under both the sacred and the profane law, ignorance is no excuse for nonperformance of one's duties. Indeed, ignorance can be punished as an act of willful neglect, based upon theTotal Personal Responsibility Act of '23, to say nothing of the LesserCodicil. " He smiled again. "However, there is no question ofchastisement for you as yet. "

"I'm glad to hear that, sir, " Barrent said. 

"'Uncle' is the proper form of address, " the priest said. "I am UncleIngemar, and I have come to tell you about the orthodox religion ofOmega, which is the worship of that pure and transcendent spirit of Evilwhich is our inspiration and our comfort. "

Barrent said, "I'll be very happy to hear about the religion of Evil, Uncle. Shall we go into the living room?"

"By all means, Nephew, " the priest said, and followed Barrent to theapartment in back of the store. 

Chapter Six

"Evil, " the priest said, after he had settled comfortably into Barrent'sbest chair, "is that force within us which inspires men to acts ofstrength and endurance. The worship of Evil is essentially the worshipof oneself, and therefore the only true worship. The self which oneworships is the ideal social being; the man content in his niche insociety, yet ready to grasp any opportunity for advancement; the man whomeets death with dignity, who kills without the demeaning vice of pity. Evil is cruel, since it is a true reflection of the uncaring andinsensate universe. Evil is eternal and unchanging, although it comes tous in the many forms of protean life. "

"Would you care for a little wine, Uncle?" Barrent asked. 

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful, " Uncle Ingemar said. "How isbusiness?"

"Fair. A little slow this week. "

"People don't take the same interest in poisoning, " the priest said, moodily sipping his drink. "Not like when I was a boy, newly unfrockedand shipped out from Earth. However. I was speaking to you about Evil. "

"Yes, Uncle. "

"We worship Evil, " Uncle Ingemar said, "in the incarnate form of TheBlack One, that horned and horrid specter of our days and nights. In TheBlack One we find the seven cardinal sins, the forty felonies, and thehundred and one misdemeanors. There is no crime that The Black One hasnot performed--faultlessly, as befits his nature. Therefore we imperfectbeings model ourselves upon his perfections. And sometimes, The BlackOne rewards us by appearing before us in the awful beauty of his fieryflesh. Yes, Nephew, I have actually been privileged to see him. Twoyears ago he appeared at the conclusion of the Games, and he alsoappeared the year before that. "

The priest brooded for a moment over the divine appearance. Then hesaid, "Since we recognize in the State man's highest potential for Evil, we also worship the State as a suprahuman, though less than divine, creation. "

Barrent nodded. He was having a difficult time staying awake. UncleIngemar's low, monotonous voice lecturing about so commonplace a thingas Evil had a soporific effect on him. He struggled to keep his eyesopen. 

"One might well ask, " Uncle Ingemar droned on, "if Evil is the highestattainment of the nature of man, why then did The Black One allow anyGood to exist in the universe? The problem of Good has bothered theunenlightened for ages. I will now answer it for you. "

"Yes, Uncle?" Barrent said, surreptitiously pinching himself on theinside of the thigh in an effort to stay awake. 

"But first, " Uncle Ingemar said, "let us define our terms. Let usexamine the nature of Good. Let us boldly and fearlessly stare our greatopponent in the face and discover the true lineaments of his features. "

"Yes, " Barrent said, wondering if he should open a window. His eyes feltincredibly heavy. He rubbed them hard and tried to pay attention. 

"Good is a state of illusion, " said Uncle Ingemar in his even, monotonous voice, "which ascribes to man the nonexistent attributes ofaltruism, humility, and piety. How can we recognize Good as being anillusion? Because there is only man and The Black One in the universe, and to worship The Black One is to worship the ultimate expression ofoneself. Thus, since we have proven Good to be an illusion, wenecessarily recognize its attributes as nonexistent. Understood?"

Barrent didn't answer. 

"Do you understand?" the priest asked more sharply. 

"Eh?" Barrent said. He had been dozing with his eyes open. He forcedhimself awake and managed to say, "Yes, Uncle, I understand. "

"Excellent. Understanding that, we ask, why did The Black One allow eventhe illusion of Good to exist in an Evil universe? And the answer isfound in the Law of Necessary Opposites; for Evil could not berecognized as such without something to contrast it with. The bestcontrast is an opposite. And the opposite of Evil is Good. " The priestsmiled triumphantly. "It's so simple and clear-cut, isn't it?"

"It certainly is, Uncle, " Barrent said. "Would you like a little morewine?"

"Just the tiniest drop, " the priest said. 

He talked to Barrent for another ten minutes about the natural andcharming Evil inherent in the beasts of the field and forest, andcounseled Barrent to pattern his behavior on those simple-mindedcreatures. At last he rose to leave. 

"I'm very glad we could have this little chat, " the priest said, warmlyshaking Barrent's hand. "Can I count on your appearance at our Mondaynight services?"

"Services?"

"Of course, " Uncle Ingemar said. "Every Monday night--at midnight--wehold Black Mass at the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive. After services, theLadies Auxiliary usually puts out a snack, and we have community dancingand choir singing. It's all very jolly. " He smiled broadly. "You see, the worship of evil _can_ be fun. "

"I'm sure it can, " Barrent said. "I'll be there, Uncle. "

He showed the priest to the door. After locking up, he thought carefullyabout what Uncle Ingemar had said. No doubt about it, attendance atservices was necessary. Compulsory, in fact. He just hoped that theBlack Mass wouldn't be as infernally dull as Ingemar's exposition ofEvil. 

That was Friday. Barrent was kept busy over the next two days. Hereceived a shipment of homeopathic herbs and roots from his agent in theBloodpit district. It took the better part of a day to sort and classifythem, and another day to store them in the proper jars. 

On Monday, returning to his shop after lunch, Barrent thought he sawthe girl. He hurried after her, but lost her in the crowd. 

When he got back to his store, Barrent found that a letter had beenslipped under his door. It was an invitation from his neighborhood DreamShop. The letter read:

 Dear Citizen, We take this opportunity of welcoming you into the neighborhood and extending to you the services of what we believe to be the finest Dream on Omega. 

 All manner and type of dreams are available to you--and at a surprisingly low cost. We specialize in memory-resurrecting dreams of Earth. You can be assured that your neighborhood Dream Shop offers you only the finest in vicarious living. 

 As a Free Citizen, you will surely wish to avail yourself of these services. May we hope that you do so within the week?

 The Proprietors. 

Barrent put down the letter. He had no idea what a Dream Shop was, orhow the dreams were produced. He would have to find out. Even though theinvitation was graciously worded, it had a peremptory tone to it. Past adoubt, a visit to a Dream Shop was one of the obligations of a FreeCitizen. 

But of course, an obligation could be a pleasure, too. The Dream Shopsounded interesting. And a genuine memory-resurrection dream of Earthwould be worth almost any price the proprietors wished to ask. 

But that would have to wait. Tonight was Black Mass, and his attendancethere was definitely required. 

Barrent left his store at eleven o'clock in the evening. He wanted timefor a stroll around Tetrahyde before going to the service, which beganat midnight. 

He started his walk with a definite sense of well-being. And yet, because of the irrational and unexpecting nature of Omega, he almostdied before reaching the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive. 

Chapter Seven

It had turned into a hot, almost suffocatingly humid night when Barrentbegan his walk. Not the faintest breath of air stirred along thedarkened streets. Although he was wearing only a black mesh shirt, shorts, gunbelt, and sandals, Barrent felt as if he were wrapped in athick blanket. Most of the people of Tetrahyde, except for those alreadyat the Covens, had retired to the coolness of their cellars. The darkstreets were nearly deserted. 

Barrent walked on, more slowly. The few people he met were running totheir homes. There was a sense of panic in that silent, dogged sprintthrough heat which made walking difficult. Barrent tried to find outwhat the matter was, but no one would stop. One old man shouted over hisshoulder, "Get off the street, idiot!"

"Why?" Barrent asked him. 

The old man snarled something unintelligible and hurried on. 

Barrent kept on walking, nervously fingering the butt of hisneedlebeam. Something was certainly wrong, but he had no idea what itwas. His nearest shelter now was the Wee Coven, about half a mile away. It seemed best to keep on moving in that direction, staying alert, waiting to see what was wrong. 

In a few minutes, Barrent was alone in a tightly shuttered city. Hemoved into the center of the street, loosened the needlebeam in itsholster, and prepared for attack from any side. Perhaps this was somespecial holiday like Landing Day. Perhaps Free Citizens were fair gametonight. Anything seemed possible on a planet like Omega. 

He thought he was ready for any possibility. But when the attack came, it was from an unexpected quarter. 

A faint breeze stirred the stagnant air. It faded and returned, strongerthis time, perceptibly cooling the hot streets. Wind rolled off themountains of the interior and swept through the streets of Tetrahyde, and Barrent could feel the perspiration on his chest and back begin todry. 

For a few minutes, the climate of Tetrahyde was as pleasant as anythinghe could imagine. 

Then the temperature continued to fall. 

It dropped rapidly. Frigid air swept in from the distant mountainslopes, and the temperature fell through the seventies into the sixties. 

This is ridiculous, Barrent thought to himself. I'd better get to theCoven. 

He walked more rapidly, while the temperature plummeted. It passedthrough the forties into the low thirties. The first glittering signs offrost appeared on the streets. 

It can't go much lower, Barrent thought. 

But it could. An angry winter wind blew through the streets, and thetemperature dropped into the twenties. Moisture in the air began forminginto sleet. 

Chilled to the bone, Barrent ran down the empty streets, and the wind, rising to gale force, pulled and tugged at him. The streets glitteredwith ice, making the footing dangerous. He skidded and fell, and had torun at a slower pace to keep his footing. And still the temperaturedropped, and the wind growled and snapped like an angry beast. 

He saw light through a heavily shuttered window. He stopped and poundedat the shutters, but no sound came from inside. He realized that thepeople of Tetrahyde never helped anyone; the more who died, the morechance there was for the survivors. So Barrent continued running, onfeet that felt like chunks of wood. 

The wind shrieked in his ear, and hailstones the size of his fist peltedthe ground. He was getting too tired to run. All he could do now waswalk, through a frozen white world, and hope he would reach the WeeCoven. 

He walked for hours or for years. At one corner he passed the bodies oftwo men huddled against a wall and covered with frost. They had stoppedrunning and had frozen to death. 

Barrent forced himself to run again. A stitch in his side felt like aknife wound, and the cold was creeping up his arms and down his legs. Soon the cold would reach his chest, and that would be the end. 

A flurry of hailstones stunned him. Without conscious transition hefound that he was lying on the icy ground, and a monstrous wind waswhirling away the tiny warmth his body was able to generate. 

At the far end of the block he could see the tiny red light of theCoven. He crept toward it on hands and knees, moving mechanically, notreally expecting to get there. He crawled forever, and the beckoning redlight always remained the same distance from him. 

But he kept on crawling, and at last he reached the door of the Coven. He pulled himself to his feet and turned the doorknob. 

The door was locked. 

He pounded feebly on the door. After a moment, a panel slid back. He sawa man staring at him; then the panel slid shut. He waited for the doorto open. It didn't open. Minutes passed, and still it didn't open. Whatwere they waiting for inside? What was wrong? Barrent tried to pound onthe door again, lost his balance and fell to the ground. He rolled overand looked despairingly at the locked door. Then he lost consciousness. 

 * * * * *

When he came to, Barrent found himself lying on a couch. Two men weremassaging his arms and legs, and beneath him he could feel the warmth ofheating pads. Peering anxiously at him was the broad, swarthy face ofUncle Ingemar. 

"Feeling better now?" Uncle Ingemar asked. 

"I think so, " Barrent said. "Why did you take so long opening the door?"

"We almost didn't open it at all, " the priest told him. "It's againstthe law to aid strangers in distress. Since you hadn't as yet joined theCoven, you were technically still a stranger. "

"Then why did you let me in?"

"My assistant noticed that we had an even number of worshipers. Werequire an odd number, preferably ending in three. Where the sacred andthe profane laws are in conflict, the profane must yield. So we let youin despite the government ruling. "

"It's a ridiculous ruling, " Barrent said. 

"Not really. Like most of the laws of Omega, it is designed to keep thepopulation down. Omega is an extremely barren planet, you know. Theconstant arrival of new prisoners keeps swelling the population, to theenormous disadvantage of the older inhabitants. Ways and means must besought to dispose of the excess newcomers. "

"It isn't fair, " Barrent said. 

"You'll change your mind when you become an older inhabitant, " Ingemarsaid. "And by your tenacity, I'm sure you'll become one. "

"Maybe, " Barrent said. "But what happened? The temperature must havedropped nearly a hundred degrees in fifteen minutes. "

"A hundred and eight degrees to be exact, " Uncle Ingemar said. "It'sreally very simple. Omega is a planet which revolves eccentricallyaround a double star system. Further instability, I'm told, comes fromthe planet's peculiar physical make-up--the placement of mountains andseas. The result is a uniformly and dramatically bad climatecharacterized by sudden violent temperature changes. "

The assistant, a small, self-important fellow, said, "It has beencalculated that Omega is at the outer limits of the planets which cansupport human life without gross artificial aids. If the fluctuationsbetween hot and cold were any more violent, all human life here wouldbe wiped out. "

"It's the perfect punitive world, " Uncle Ingemar said proudly. "Experienced residents sense when a temperature change is about to takeplace and get indoors. "

"It's--hellish, " Barrent said, at a loss for words. 

"That describes it perfectly, " the priest said. "It _is_ hellish, andtherefore perfect for the worship of The Black One. If you're feelingbetter now, Citizen Barrent, shall we proceed with services?"

Except for a touch of frostbite on his toes and fingers, Barrent was allright. He nodded, and followed the priest and the worshipers into themain part of the Coven. 

 * * * * *

After what he had been through, the Black Mass was necessarily ananticlimax. In his warmly heated pew, Barrent drowsed through UncleIngemar's sermon on the necessary performance of everyday evil. 

The worship of Evil, Uncle Ingemar said, should not be reserved solelyfor Monday nights. On the contrary! The knowledge and performance ofevil should suffuse one's daily life. It was not given to everyone to bea great sinner; but no one should be discouraged by that. Little acts ofbadness performed over a lifetime accumulated into a sinful whole mostpleasing to The Black One. No one should forget that some of thegreatest sinners, even the demoniac saints themselves, often had humblebeginnings. Did not Thrastus start as a humble shopkeeper, cheating hiscustomers of a portion of rice? Who would have expected that simple manto develop into the Red Slayer of Thorndyke Lane? And who could haveimagined that Dr. Louen, son of a dockhand, would one day become theworld's foremost authority on the practical applications of torture?Perseverance and piety had allowed those men to rise above their naturalhandicaps to a pre-eminent position at the right hand of The Black One. And it proved, Uncle Ingemar said, that Evil was the business of thepoor as well as the rich. 

That ended the sermon. Barrent awoke momentarily when the sacred symbolswere brought out and displayed to the reverent congregation--ared-handled dagger, and a plaster toad. Then he dozed again through theslow inscribing of the magical pentagon. 

At last the ceremony neared its end. The names of the interceding evildemons were read--Bael, Forcas, Buer, Marchocias, Astaroth, andBehemoth. A prayer was read to ward off the effects of Good. And UncleIngemar apologized for not having a virgin to sacrifice on the RedAltar. 

"Our funds were not sufficient, " he said, "for the purchase of agovernment-certified peon virgin. However, I am sure we will be able toperform the full ceremony next Monday. My assistant will now pass amongyou.... "

The assistant carried around the black-rimmed collection plate. Like theother worshipers, Barrent contributed generously. It seemed wise to doso. Uncle Ingemar was clearly annoyed at not having a virgin tosacrifice. If he became a little angrier, he might take it into his headto sacrifice one of the congregation, virgin or not. 

Barrent didn't stay for the choir singing or the community dancing. Whenthe evening worship was finished, he poked his head cautiously out thedoor. The temperature had gone up to the seventies, and the frost wasalready melted from the ground. Barrent shook hands with the priest andhurried home. 

Chapter Eight

Barrent had had enough of Omega's shocks and surprises. He stayed closeto his store, worked at his business, and kept alert for trouble. He wasbeginning to develop the Omegan look: a narrow, suspicious squint, ahand always near gun butt, feet ready to sprint. Like the olderinhabitants, he was acquiring a sixth sense for danger. 

At night, after the doors and windows were barred and the triplex alarmsystem had been set, Barrent would lie on his bed and try to rememberEarth. Probing into the misty recesses of his memory, he foundtantalizing hints and traces, and fragments of pictures. Here was agreat highway curving toward the sun; a fragment of a huge, multi-levelcity; a closeup view of a starship's curving hull. But the pictures werenot continuous. They existed for the barest fraction of a second, thenvanished. 

On Saturday, Barrent spent the evening with Joe, Danis Foeren, and hisneighbor Tem Rend. Joe's pokra had prospered, and he had been able tobribe his way to the status of Free Citizen. Foeren was too blunt andstraightforward for that; he had remained at the Residency level. ButTem Rend promised to take the big forger as an assistant if theAssassin's Guild accepted his application. 

The evening started pleasantly enough; but it ended, as usual, with anargument about Earth. 

"Now look, " Joe said, "we all know what Earth is like. It's a complex ofgigantic floating cities. They're built on artificial islands in thevarious oceans--"

"No, the cities are on land, " Barrent said. 

"On water, " Joe said. "The people of Earth have returned to the sea. Everyone has special oxygen adaptors for breathing salt water. The landareas aren't even used any more. The sea provides everything that--"

"It isn't like that, " Barrent said. "I remember huge cities, but theywere all on land. "

Foeren said, "You're both wrong. What would Earth want with cities? Shegave them up centuries ago. Earth is a landscaped park now. Everyone hashis own home and several acres of land. All the forests and jungles havebeen allowed to grow back. People live _with_ nature instead of tryingto conquer it. Isn't that right, Tem?"

"Almost but not quite, " Tem Rend said. "There are still cities, butthey're underground. Tremendous underground factories and productionareas. The rest is like Foeren said. "

"There aren't any more factories, " Foeren insisted stubbornly. "There'sno need of them. Any goods which a man requires can be produced bythought-control. "

"I'm telling you, " Joe said, "I can remember the floating cities! I usedto live in the Nimui sector on the island of Pasiphae. "

"You think that proves anything?" Rend asked. "I remember that I workedon the eighteenth underground level of Nueva Chicaga. My work quota wastwenty days a year. The rest of the time I spent outdoors in theforests--"

Foeren said, "That's wrong, Tem. There aren't any underground levels. Ican remember distinctly that my father was a Controller, Third Class. Our family used to trek several hundred miles every year. When we neededsomething, my father would _think_ it, and there it'd be. He promised toteach me how, but I guess he never did. "

Barrent said, "Well, a couple of us are certainly having false recall. "

"That's certain, " Joe said. "But the question is, which of us is right?"

"We'll never find out, " Rend said, "unless we can return to Earth. "

That ended the discussion. 

Toward the end of the week, Barrent received another invitation from theDream Shop, more strongly worded than the first. He decided to dischargethe obligation that evening. He checked the temperature, and found thatit had risen into the high nineties. Wiser now in Omegan ways, he packeda small satchel full of cold-weather clothing, and started out. 

The Dream Shop was located in the exclusive Death's Row section. Barrentwent in, and found himself in a small, sumptuously furnished waitingroom. A sleek young man behind a polished desk gave him an artificialsmile. 

"Could I be of service?" the young man asked. "My name is Nomis J. Arkdragen, assistant manager in charge of nightside dreams. "

"I'd like to know something about what happens, " Barrent said. "How onegets dreams, what kind of dreams, all that sort of thing. "

"Of course, " Arkdragen said. "Our service is easily explained, Citizen--"

"Barrent. Will Barrent. "

Arkdragen nodded and checked a name from a list in front of him. Helooked up and said, "Our dreams are produced by the action of drugs uponthe brain and the central nervous system. There are many drugs whichproduce the desired effect. Among the most useful are heroin, morphine, opium, coca, hemp, and peyote. All those are Earth products. Found onlyon Omega are Black Slipper, nace, manicee, tri-narcotine, djedalas, andthe various products of the carmoid group. Any and all of these aredream-inducers. "

"I see, " Barrent said. "Then you sell drugs. "

"Not at all!" Arkdragen said. "Nothing so simple, nothing so crude. Inancient times on Earth, men administered drugs to themselves. The dreamswhich resulted were necessarily random in nature. You never knew whatyou would dream about, or for how long. You never knew if you would havea dream or a nightmare, a horror or a delight. This uncertainty has beenremoved from the modern Dream Shop. Nowadays, our drugs are carefullymeasured, mixed, and metered for each individual. There is an absoluteprecision in dream-making, ranging from the Nirvana-like calm of BlackSlipper through the multicolored hallucinations of peyotl andtri-narcotine, to the sexual fantasies induced by nace and morphine, and at last to the memory-resurrecting dreams of the carmoid group. "

"It's the memory-resurrecting dreams I'm interested in, " Barrent said. 

Arkdragen frowned. "I wouldn't recommend it for a first visit. "

"Why not?"

"Dreams of Earth are apt to be more unsettling than any imaginaryproductions. It's usually advisable to build up a tolerance for them. Iwould advise a nice little sexual fantasy for your first visit. We havea special sale on sexual fantasies this week. "

Barrent shook his head. "I think I'd prefer the real thing. "

"You wouldn't, " the assistant manager said, with a knowing smile. "Believe me, once one becomes accustomed to vicarious sex experiences, the real thing is pallid by comparison. "

"Not interested, " Barrent said. "What I want is a dream about Earth. "

"But you haven't built up a tolerance!" Arkdragen said. "You aren't evenaddicted. "

"Is addiction necessary?"

"It's important, " Arkdragen told him, "as well as being inescapable. Allour drugs are habit-forming, as the law requires. You see, to reallyappreciate a drug, you must build up a need for it. It heightenspleasure enormously, to say nothing of the increase in toleration. That's why I suggest that you begin with--"

"I want a dream about Earth, " Barrent said. 

"Very well, " Arkdragen said grudgingly. "But we will not be responsiblefor any traumas which accrue. "

He led Barrent into a long passageway. It was lined with doors, andbehind some of them Barrent could hear dull moans and gasps of pleasure. 

"Experiencers, " Arkdragen said, without further explanation. He tookBarrent to an open room near the end of the corridor. Within sat acheerful-looking bearded man in a white coat reading a book. 

"Good evening, Doctor Wayn, " Arkdragen said. "This is Citizen Barrent. First visit. He insists upon an Earth dream. " Arkdragen turned and left. 

"Well, " the doctor said, "I guess we can manage that. " He put down hisbook. "Just lie down over there, Citizen Barrent. "

In the center of the room was a long, adjustable table. Above it hung acomplicated-looking instrument. At the end of the room were glass-sidedcabinets filled with square jars; they reminded Barrent of hisantidotes. 

He lay down. Doctor Wayn put him through a general examination, then aspecific check for suggestibility, hypnotic index, reactions to theeleven basic drug groups, and susceptibility to tetanic and epilepticseizures. He jotted down his results on a pad, checked his figures, wentto a cabinet, and began mixing drugs. 

"Is this likely to be dangerous?" Barrent asked. 

"It shouldn't be, " Doctor Wayn said. "You appear healthy enough. Quitehealthy, in fact, and with a low suggestibility rating. Of course, epileptic fits _do_ occur, probably because of cumulative allergicreactions. Can't help that sort of thing. And then there are thetraumas, which sometimes result in insanity and death. They form aninteresting study in themselves. And some people get stuck in theirdreams and are unable to be extricated. I suppose that could beclassified as a form of insanity, although actually it isn't. "

The doctor had finished mixing his drugs. He was loading a hypodermicwith the mixture. Barrent was having serious doubts about theadvisability of the whole thing. 

"Perhaps I should postpone this visit, " he said. "I'm not sure that I--"

"Don't worry about a thing, " the doctor said. "This is the finest DreamShop on Omega. Try to relax. Tight muscles can result in tetanicconvulsions. "

"I think Mr. Arkdragen was right, " Barrent said. "Maybe I shouldn't havea dream about Earth for my first visit. He said it was dangerous. "

"Well, after all, " the doctor said, "what's life without a little risk?Besides, the most common damage is brain lesions and burst bloodvessels. And we have full facilities for taking care of that sort ofthing. "

He poised the hypodermic over Barrent's left arm. 

"I've changed my mind, " Barrent said, and started to get off the bed. Doctor Wayn deftly slid the needle into Barrent's arm. 

"One does not change one's mind, " he told Barrent, "inside a Dream Shop. Try to relax.... "

Barrent relaxed. He lay back on the bed, and heard a shrill singing inhis ears. He tried to focus on the doctor's face. But the face hadchanged. 

The face was old, round, and fleshy. Ridges of fat stood out on the chinand neck. The face was perspiring, friendly, worried. 

It was Barrent's 5th Term Advisor. 

"Now, Will, " the Advisor said, "you must be careful. You must learn torestrain that temper of yours. Will, you _must_!"

"I know, sir, " Barrent said. "It's just that I get so mad at that--"

"Will!"

"All right, " Barrent said. "I'll watch myself. "

He left the university office and walked into the city. It was afantastic city of skyscrapers and multi-level streets, a brilliant cityof silver and diamond hues, an ambitious city which administered afar-flung network of countries and planets. Barrent walked along thethird pedestrian level, still angry, thinking about Andrew Therkaler. 

Because of Therkaler and his ridiculous jealousy, Barrent's applicationfor the Space Exploration Corps had been turned down. There was nothinghis Advisor could do about the matter; Therkaler had too much influenceon the Selection Board. It would be a full three years before Barrentcould apply again. In the meantime he was Earth-bound and unemployable. All his studies had been for extraterrestrial exploration. There was noplace for him on Earth; and now he was barred from space. 

Therkaler!

Barrent left the pedestrian level and took the highspeed ramp into theSante district. As the ramp moved, he fingered the small weapon in hispocket. Handguns were illegal on Earth. He had procured his throughuntraceable means. 

He was determined to kill Therkaler. 

There was a wash of grotesque faces. The dream blurred. When it cleared, Barrent found himself aiming his handgun at a thin, cross-eyed fellowwhose scream for mercy was abruptly cut short. 

The informer, blank-faced and stern, noted the crime and informed thepolice. 

The police, in uniforms of gray, took him into custody and brought himbefore the judge. 

The judge, with his vague parchment face, sentenced him to perpetualservitude upon the planet Omega, and handed down the obligatory decreethat Barrent be cleansed of memory. 

Then the dream turned into a kaleidoscope of horror. Barrent wasclimbing a slippery pole, a sheer mountainside, a smooth-sided well. Behind him, gaining on him, was Therkaler's corpse with its chest rippedopen. Supporting the corpse on either side were the blank-faced informerand the parchment-faced judge. 

Barrent ran down a hill, a street, a rooftop. His pursuers were closebehind him. He entered a dim yellow room, closed and locked the door. When he turned around, he saw that he had locked himself in withTherkaler's corpse. Fungus was blossoming in the open wound in thechest, and the scarred head was crowned with red and purple mold. Thecorpse advanced, reached for him, and Barrent dived headfirst throughthe window. 

"_Come out of it, Barrent. You're overdoing it. Come out of the dream. _"

Barrent had no time to listen. The window turned into a chute, and heslid down its polished sides into an amphitheatre. There, across graysand, the corpse crept toward him on the stubs of arms and legs. Theenormous grandstand was empty except for the judge and the informer, whosat side by side, watching. 

"_He's stuck. _"

"Well, I warned him.... "

"_Come out of the dream, Barrent. This is Doctor Wayn. You're on Omega, in the Dream Shop. Come out of the dream. There's still time if you pullyourself out immediately. _"

Omega? Dream? There was no time to think about it. Barrent was swimmingacross a dark, evil-smelling lake. The judge and the informer wereswimming just behind him, flanking the corpse, whose skin was slowlypeeling away. 

"_Barrent!_"

And now the lake was turning into a thick jelly which clung to his armsand legs and filled his mouth, while the judge and the informer--

"_Barrent!_"

Barrent opened his eyes and found himself on the adjustable bed in theDream Shop. Doctor Wayn, looking somewhat shaken, was standing over him. A nurse was near by with a tray of hypodermics and an oxygen mask. Behind her was Arkdragen, wiping perspiration from his forehead. 

"I didn't think you were going to make it, " Doctor Wayn said. "I reallydidn't. "

"He pulled out just in time, " the nurse said. 

"I warned him, " Arkdragen said, and left the room. 

Barrent sat up. "What happened?" he asked. 

Doctor Wayn shrugged his shoulders. "It's hard to tell. Perhaps you wereprone to circular reaction; and sometimes the drugs aren't absolutelypure. But these things usually don't happen more than once. Believe me, Citizen Barrent, the drug experience is very pleasant. I'm sure you'llenjoy it the second time. "

Still shaken by his experience, Barrent was certain there would be nosecond time for him. Whatever the cost, he was not going to risk arepetition of that nightmare. 

"Am I addicted now?" he asked. 

"Oh, no, " Doctor Wayn said. "Addiction occurs with the third or fourthvisit. "

Barrent thanked him and left. He passed Arkdragen's desk and asked howmuch he owed. 

"Nothing, " Arkdragen said. "The first visit is always on the house. " Hegave Barrent a knowing smile. 

Barrent left the Dream Shop and hurried home to his apartment. He had alot to think about. Now, for the first time, he had proof that he was awillful and premeditated murderer. 

Chapter Nine

Being accused of a murder you can't remember is one thing; remembering amurder you have been accused of is another thing entirely. Such evidenceis hard to disbelieve. 

Barrent tried to sort out his feelings on the matter. Before his visitto the Dream Shop he had never felt himself a murderer, no matter whatthe Earth authorities had accused him of. At worst, he had thought thathe might have killed a man in a sudden uncontrollable fit of rage. Butto plan and perform a murder in cold blood.... 

Why had he done it? Had his lust for revenge been so great as to throwoff all the restraint of Earth's civilization? Apparently so. He hadkilled, and someone had informed on him, and a judge had sentenced himto Omega. He was a murderer on a criminal's planet. To live heresuccessfully, he simply had to follow his natural bias toward murder. 

And yet, Barrent found this extremely difficult to do. He hadsurprisingly little taste for bloodshed. On Free Citizen's Day, although he went into the streets with his needlebeam, he couldn't bringhimself to slaughter any of the lower classes. He didn't want to kill. It was a ridiculous prejudice, considering where and what he was; butthere it was. No matter how often Tem Rend or Joe lectured him on hisCitizen's duties, Barrent still found murder quite distasteful. 

He sought the aid of a psychiatrist, who told him that his rejection ofmurder had its roots in an unhappy childhood. The phobia had beenfurther complicated by the traumatic qualities of his experience in theDream Shop. Because of this, murder, the highest social good, had becomerepugnant to him. This antimurder neurosis in a man eminently suited forthe art of killing would, the psychiatrist said, inevitably lead toBarrent's destruction. The only solution was to displace the neurosis. The psychiatrist suggested immediate treatment in a sanitarium for thecriminally non-murderous. 

Barrent visited a sanitarium, and heard the mad inmates screaming aboutgoodness, fair play, the sanctity of life, and other obscenities. He hadno intention of joining them. Perhaps he was sick, but he wasn't _that_sick!

His friends told him that his uncooperative attitude was bound to gethim into trouble. Barrent agreed; but he hoped, by killing only when itbecame necessary, that he would escape the observation of the highlyplaced individuals who administered the law. 

For several weeks his plan seemed to work. He ignored the increasinglyperemptory notes from the Dream Shop and did not return to services atthe Wee Coven. Business prospered, and Barrent spent his spare timestudying the effects of the rarer poisons and practicing with hisneedlebeam. He often thought about the girl. He still had the gun shehad lent him. He wondered if he would ever see her again. 

And he thought about Earth. Since his visit to the Dream Shop, he hadoccasional flashes of recall, isolated pictures of a weathered stonebuilding, a stand of live oaks, the curve of a river seen throughwillows. This half-remembered Earth filled him with an almost unbearablelonging. Like most of the citizens of Omega, his only real wish was togo home. 

And that was impossible. 

The days passed, and when trouble came, it came unexpectedly. One nightthere was a heavy knocking at his door. Half asleep, Barrent answeredit. Four uniformed men pushed their way inside and told him he was underarrest. 

"What for?" Barrent asked. 

"Non-drug addiction, " one of the men told him. "You have three minutesto dress. "

"What's the penalty?"

"You'll find out in court, " the man said. He winked at the other guardsand added, "But the only way to cure a nonaddict is to kill him. Eh?"

Barrent dressed. 

 * * * * *

He was taken to a room in the sprawling Department of Justice. The roomwas called the Kangaroo Court, in honor of ancient Anglo-Saxon judicialproceeding. Across the hall from it, also of antique derivation, was theStar Chamber. Just past that was the Court of Last Appeal. 

The Kangaroo Court was divided in half by a high wooden screen, for itwas fundamental to Omegan justice that the accused should not see hisjudge nor any of the witnesses against him. 

"Let the prisoner rise, " a voice said from behind the screen. The voice, thin, flat and emotionless, came through a small amplifier. Barrentcould barely understand the words; tone and inflection were lost, as hadbeen planned for. Even in speaking, the judge remained anonymous. 

"Will Barrent, " the judge said, "you have been brought before this courton a major charge of non-drug addiction and a minor charge of religiousimpiety. On the minor count we have the sworn statement of a priest. Onthe major count we have the testimony of the Dream Shop. Can you refuteeither of these charges?"

Barrent thought for a moment, then answered, "No, sir, I can't. "

"For the present, " the judge said, "your religious impiety can bewaived, since it is a first offense. But non-drug addiction is a majorcrime against the state of Omega. The uninterrupted use of drugs is anenforced privilege of every citizen. It is well known that privilegesmust be exercised, otherwise they will be lost. To lose our privilegeswould be to lose the very cornerstone of our liberty. Therefore toreject or otherwise fail to perform a privilege is tantamount to hightreason. "

There was a pause. The guards shuffled their feet restlessly. Barrent, who considered his situation hopeless, stood at attention and waited. 

"Drugs serve many purposes, " the hidden judge went on. "I need notenumerate their desirable qualities for the user. But speaking from theviewpoint of the state, I will tell you that an addicted populace is aloyal populace; that drugs are a major source of tax revenue; that drugsexemplify our entire way of life. Furthermore, I say to you that thenonaddicted minorities have invariably proven hostile to native Omeganinstitutions. I give you this lengthy explanation, Will Barrent, inorder that you may better understand the sentence which is to be passedupon you. "

"Sir, " Barrent said, "I was wrong in avoiding addiction. I won't pleadignorance, because I know the law doesn't recognize that excuse. But Iwill ask you most humbly for another chance. I ask you to remember, sir, that addiction and rehabilitation are still possible for me. "

"The court recognizes that, " the judge said. "For that reason, the courtis pleased to exercise its fullest powers of judicial mercy. Instead ofsummary execution, you may choose between two lesser decrees. The firstis punitive; that you shall suffer the loss of your right hand and leftleg in atonement for your crime against the State; but that you shallnot lose your life. "

Barrent gulped and asked, "What is the other decree, sir?"

"The other decree, which is nonpunitive, is that you shall undergo aTrial by Ordeal. And that, if you survive such a trial, you shall bereturned to appropriate rank and position in society. "

"I'll take the Trial by Ordeal, " Barrent said. 

"Very well, " said the judge. "Let the case proceed. "

Barrent was led from the room. Behind him, he heard a quickly concealedlaugh from one of the guards. Had he chosen wrong? he wondered. Could atrial by ordeal be worse than outright mutilation?

Chapter Ten

On Omega, so the saying went, you couldn't fit a knife blade between thetrial and the execution of the sentence. Barrent was taken at once to alarge, circular stone room in the basement of the Department of Justice. White arc lights glared down at him from a high, arched ceiling. Below, one section of wall had been cut away to provide a reviewing stand forspectators. The stands were almost filled when Barrent arrived, andhawkers were selling copies of the day's legal calendar. 

For a few moments Barrent was alone on the stone floor. Then a panelslid away in one curved wall, and a small machine rolled out. 

A loudspeaker set high in the reviewing stand announced, "Ladies andgentlemen, your attention please! You are about to witness Trial642-BG223, by Ordeal, between Citizen Will Barrent and GME 213. Takeyour seats, please. The contest will begin in a few minutes. "

Barrent looked over his opponent. It was a glistening black machineshaped like a half-sphere, standing almost four feet high. It rolledrestlessly back and forth on small wheels. A pattern of red, green, andamber lights from recessed glass bulbs flashed across its smooth metalhide. It stirred in Barrent a vague memory of some creature from Earth'soceans. 

"For the benefit of those who are visiting our gallery for the firsttime, " the loudspeaker said, "a word of explanation is in order. Theprisoner, Will Barrent, has freely chosen the Trial by Ordeal. Theinstrument of justice, which in this instance is GME 213, is an exampleof the finest creative engineering which Omega has produced. Themachine, or Max, as its many friends and admirers call it, is a murderweapon of exemplary efficiency, able to utilize no less thantwenty-three killing modes, many of them extremely painful. For trialpurposes, it is set to operate upon a random principle. This means thatMax has no choice over the way in which it kills. The modes are selectedand abandoned by a random arrangement of twenty-three numbers, linked toan equally random time-selection of one to six seconds. "

Max suddenly moved toward the center of the room, and Barrent backedaway from it. 

"It is within the prisoner's power, " the loudspeaker voice continued, "to disable the machine; in which case, the prisoner wins the contestand is set free with full rights and privileges of his station. Themethod of disabling varies from machine to machine. It is alwaystheoretically possible for a prisoner to win. Practically speaking, thishas happened on an average of 3. 5 times out of a hundred. "

Barrent looked up at the gallery of spectators. To judge by their dress, they were all men and women of status; high in the ranks of thePrivileged Classes. 

Then he saw, sitting in a front row seat, the girl who had lent him hergun on his first day in Tetrahyde. She was as beautiful as he hadremembered her; but no hint of emotion touched her pale, oval face. Shestared at him with the frank and detached interest of someone watchingan unusual bug under a jar. 

"Let the contest begin!" the loudspeaker announced. 

Barrent had no more time to think about the girl, for the machine wasrolling toward him. 

He circled warily away from it. Max extruded a single slender tentaclewith a white light winking in the end of it The machine rolled towardBarrent, backing him toward a wall. 

Abruptly it stopped. Barrent heard the clank of gears. The tentacle waswithdrawn, and in its place appeared a jointed metal arm which ended ina knife-edge. Moving more quickly now, the machine cornered him againstthe wall. The arm flickered out, but Barrent managed to dodge it. Heheard the knife-edge scrape against stone. When the arm withdrew, Barrent had a chance to move again into the center of the room. 

He knew that his only chance to disable the machine was during the pausewhen its selector changed it from one killing mode to another. But howdo you disable a smooth-surfaced turtle-backed machine?

Max came at him again, and now its metal hide glistened with a dullgreen substance which Barrent immediately recognized as Contact Poison. He broke into a spring, circling the room, trying to avoid the fataltouch. 

The machine stopped. Neutralizer washed over its surface, clearing awaythe poison. Then the machine was coming toward him again, this time withno weapons visible, apparently intending to ram. 

Barrent was badly winded. He dodged, and the machine dodged with him. Hewas standing against the wall, helpless, as the machine picked up speed. 

It stopped, inches from him. Its selector clicked. Max was extrudingsome sort of a club. 

This, Barrent thought, was an exercise in applied sadism. If it went onmuch longer, the machine would run him off his feet and kill him at itsleisure. Whatever he was going to do, he had better do it at once, whilehe still had the strength. 

Even as he thought that, the machine swung a clubbed metal arm. Barrentcouldn't avoid the blow completely. The club struck his left shoulder, and he felt his arm go numb. 

Max was selecting again. Barrent threw himself on its smooth, roundedback. At the very top he saw two tiny holes. Praying that they were airintake openings, Barrent plugged them with his fingers. 

The machine stopped dead, and the audience roared. Barrent clung to thesmooth surface with his numbed arm, trying to keep his fingers in theholes. The pattern of lights on Max's surface changed from green throughamber to red. Its deep-throated buzz became a dull hum. 

And then the machine extruded tubes as alternative intake holes. 

Barrent tried to cover them with his body. But the machine, roaring intosudden life, swiveled rapidly and threw him off. Barrent rolled to hisfeet and moved back to the center of the arena. 

The contest had lasted no more than five minutes, but Barrent wasexhausted. He forced himself to retreat from the machine, which wascoming at him now with a broad, gleaming hatchet. 

As the hatchet-arm swung, Barrent threw himself _at_ it instead of away. He caught the arm in both hands and bent it back. Metal creaked, andBarrent thought he could hear the joint beginning to give way. If hecould break off the metal arm, he might disable the machine; at the veryleast, the arm would be a weapon.... 

Max suddenly went into reverse. Barrent tried to keep his grip on thearm, but it was yanked away. He fell on his face. The hatchet swung, gouging his shoulder. 

Barrent rolled over and looked at the gallery. He was finished. He mightas well accept the machine's next attempt gracefully and have it overwith. The spectators were cheering, watching Max begin itstransformation into another killing mode. 

And the girl was motioning to him. 

Barrent stared, trying to make some sense out of it. She gestured at himto turn something over, turn it over and destroy. 

He had no more time to watch. Dizzy from loss of blood, he staggered tohis feet and watched the machine charge. He didn't bother to see whatweapon it had extruded; his entire attention was concentrated on itswheels. 

As it came at him, Barrent threw himself under the wheels. 

The machine tried to brake and swerve, but not in time. The wheelsrolled onto Barrent's body, tilting the machine sharply upward. Barrentgrunted under the impact. With his back under the machine, he put hisremaining strength in an attempt to stand up. 

For a moment the machine teetered, its wheels spinning wildly. Then itflipped over on its back. Barrent collapsed beside it. 

When he could see again, the machine was still on its back. It wasextruding a set of arms to turn itself over. 

Barrent threw himself on the machine's flat belly and hammered with hisfists. Nothing happened. He tried to pull off one of the wheels, andcouldn't. Max was propping itself up, preparing to turn over and resumethe contest. 

The girl's motions caught Barrent's eye. She was making a pluckingmotion, repeatedly, insistently. 

Only then Barrent saw a small fuse box near one of the wheels. He yankedoff the cover, losing most of a fingernail in the process, and removedthe fuse. 

The machine expired gracefully. 

Barrent fainted. 

Chapter Eleven

On Omega, the law is supreme. Hidden and revealed, sacred and profane, the law governs the actions of all citizens, from the lowest of the lowto the highest of the high. Without the law, there could be noprivileges for those who made the law; therefore the law was absolutelynecessary. Without the law and its stern enforcement, Omega would be anunthinkable chaos in which a man's rights could extend only as far andas long as he personally could enforce them. This anarchy would mean theend of Omegan society; and particularly, it would mean the end of thosesenior citizens of the ruling class who had grown high in status, butwhose skill with a gun had long passed its peak. 

Therefore the law was necessary. 

But Omega was also a criminal society, composed entirely of individualswho had broken the laws of Earth. It was a society which, in the finalanalysis, stressed individual endeavor. It was a society in which thelawbreaker was king; a society in which crimes were not only condonedbut were admired and even rewarded; a society in which deviation fromthe rules was judged solely on its degree of success. 

And this resulted in the paradox of a criminal society with absolutelaws which were meant to be broken. 

The judge, still hidden behind his screen, explained all this toBarrent. Several hours had passed since the end of the Trial by Ordeal. Barrent had been taken to the infirmary, where his injuries were patchedup. They were minor, for the most part; two cracked ribs, a deep gougein his left shoulder, and various cuts and bruises. 

"Accordingly, " the judge went on, "the law must simultaneously be brokenand not broken. Those who never break a law never rise in status. Theyare usually killed off in one way or another, since they lack thenecessary initiative to survive. For those who, like yourself, breaklaws, the situation is somewhat different. The law punishes them withabsolute severity--_unless they can get away with it_. "

The judge paused. In a thoughtful voice he continued, "The highest typeof man on Omega is the individual who understands the laws, appreciatestheir necessity, knows the penalties for infraction, then breaksthem--and succeeds! That, sir, is your ideal criminal and your idealOmegan. And that is what you have succeeded in doing, Will Barrent, bywinning the Trial by Ordeal. "

"Thank you, sir, " Barrent said. 

"I wish you to understand, " the judge continued, "that success inbreaking the law once does not imply that you will succeed a secondtime. The odds are increasingly against you each time you try--just asthe rewards are increasingly greater if you succeed. Therefore I counselyou not to act rashly upon your new acquisition of knowledge. "

"I won't, sir, " Barrent said. 

"Very well. You are hereby elevated to the status of Privileged Citizen, with all the rights and obligations which that entails. You are allowedto keep your business, as before. Furthermore, you are granted a week'sfree vacation in the Lake of Clouds region; and you may go on thatvacation with any female of your choice. "

"I beg pardon?" Barrent said. "What was that last?"

"A week's vacation, " the hidden judge repeated, "with any female of yourchoice. It is a high reward, since men outnumber women on Omega by sixto one. You may pick any unmarried woman, willing or unwilling. I willgrant you three days in which to make a choice. "

"I don't need three days, " Barrent said. "I want the girl who wassitting in the front row of the spectators' gallery. The girl with blackhair and green eyes. Do you know which one I mean?"

"Yes, " the judge said slowly, "I know which one you mean. Her name isMoera Ermais. I suggest that you choose someone else. "

"Is there any reason?"

"No. But you would be much better advised if you selected someone else. My clerk will be pleased to furnish you with a list of suitable youngladies. All of them have affidavits of good performance. Several aregraduates of the Women's Institute, which, as you perhaps know, gives arigorous two-year course in the geishan arts and sciences. I canpersonally recommend your attention to--"

"Moera is the one I want, " Barrent said. 

"Young man, you err in your judgment. "

"I'll have to take that chance. "

"Very well, " the judge said. "Your vacation starts at nine tomorrowmorning. I sincerely wish you good fortune. "

 * * * * *

Guards escorted Barrent from the judge's chambers, and he was taken backto his shop. His friends, who had been waiting for the deathannouncement, came to congratulate him. They were eager to hear thecomplete details of the Trial by Ordeal; but Barrent had learned nowthat secret knowledge was the road to power. He gave them only thesketchiest outline. 

There was another cause for celebration that night. Tem Rend'sapplication had finally been accepted by the Assassin's Guild. As he hadpromised, he was taking Foeren on as his assistant. 

The following morning, Barrent opened his shop and saw a vehicle infront of his door. It had been provided for his vacation by theDepartment of Justice. Sitting in the back, looking beautiful and veryannoyed, was Moera. 

She said, "Are you out of your mind, Barrent? Do you think I have timefor this sort of thing? Why did you pick me?"

"You saved my life, " Barrent said. 

"And I suppose you think that means I'm interested in you? Well, I'mnot. If you have any gratitude, you'll tell the driver that you'vechanged your mind. You can still choose another girl. "

Barrent shook his head. "You're the only girl I'm interested in. "

"Then you won't reconsider?"

"Not a chance. "

Moera sighed and leaned back. "Are you _really_ interested in me?"

"Much more than interested, " Barrent said. 

"Well, " Moera said, "if you won't change your mind, I suppose I'll justhave to put up with you. " She turned away; but before she did, Barrentcaught the faintest suggestion of a smile. 

Chapter Twelve

The Lake of Clouds was Omega's finest vacation resort. Upon entering thedistrict, all weapons had to be checked at the main gate. No duels wereallowed under any circumstances. Quarrels were arbitrarily decided bythe nearest barman, and murder was punished by immediate loss of allstatus. 

Every amusement was available at the Lake of Clouds. There were theexhibitions such as fencing bouts, bull fighting, and bear baiting. There were sports like swimming, mountain climbing, and skiing. In theevenings there was dancing in the main ballroom, behind glass wallswhich separated residents from citizens and citizens from the elite. There was a well-stocked drug bar containing anything the fashionableaddict could desire, as well as a few novelties he might wish to sample. For the gregarious, there was an orgy every Wednesday and Saturday nightin the Satyr's Grotto. For the shy, the management arranged maskedtrysts in the dim passageways beneath the hotel. But most important ofall, there were gently rolling hills and shadowy woods to walk in, freefrom the tensions of the daily struggle for existence in Tetrahyde. 

Barrent and Moera had adjoining rooms, and the door between them wasunlocked. But on the first night, Barrent did not go through the door. Moera had given no sign of wanting him to do so; and on a planet wherewomen have easy and continual access to poisons, a man had to thinktwice before inflicting his company where it was not wanted. Even theowner of an antidote shop had to consider the possibility of not beingable to recognize his own symptoms in time. 

On their second day, they climbed high into the hills. They ate a basketlunch on a grassy incline which sloped away to the gray sea. After theyhad eaten, Barrent asked Moera why she had saved his life. 

"You won't like the answer, " she told him. 

"I'd still like to hear it. "

"Well, you looked so ridiculously vulnerable that day in the Victim'sSociety. I would have helped anyone who looked that way. "

Barrent nodded uncomfortably. "What about the second time?"

"By then I suppose I had an interest in you. Not a romantic interest, you understand. I'm not at all romantic. "

"What kind of an interest?" Barrent asked. 

"I thought you might be good recruitment material. "

"I'd like to hear more about it, " Barrent said. 

Moera was silent for a while, watching him with unblinking green eyes. She said, "There's not much I can tell you. I'm a member of anorganization. We're always on the lookout for good prospects. Usually wescreen directly from the prison ships. After that, recruiters like me goout in search of people we can use. "

"What type of people do you look for?"

"Not your type, Will. I'm sorry. "

"Why not me?"

"At first I thought seriously about recruiting you, " Moera said. "Youseemed like just the sort of person we needed. Then I checked into yourrecord. "

"And?"

"We don't recruit murderers. Sometimes we employ them for specific jobs, but we don't take them into the organization. There are certainextenuating circumstances which we recognize; self-defense, for example. But aside from that, we feel that a man who has committed premeditatedmurder on Earth is the wrong man for us. "

"I see, " Barrent said. "Would it help any if I told you I don't have theusual Omegan attitude toward murder?"

"I know you don't, " Moera said. "If it were up to me, I'd take you intothe organization. But it's not my choice.... Will, are you sure you're amurderer?"

"I believe I am, " Barrent said. "I probably am. "

"Too bad, " Moera said. "Still, the organization needs high-survivaltypes, no matter what they did on Earth. I can't promise anything, butI'll see what I can do. It would help if you could find out more aboutwhy you committed murder. Perhaps there were extenuatingcircumstances. "

"Perhaps, " Barrent said doubtfully. "I'll try to find out. "

That evening, just before he went to sleep, Moera opened the adjoiningdoor and came into his room. Slim and warm, she slipped into his bed. When he started to speak, she put a hand over his mouth. And Barrent, who had learned not to question good fortune, kept quiet. 

The rest of the vacation passed much too quickly. The subject of theorganization did not come up again; but, perhaps as compensation, theadjoining door was not closed. At last, late on the seventh day, Barrentand Moera returned to Tetrahyde. 

"When can I see you again?" Barrent asked. 

"I'll get in touch with you. "

"That's not a very satisfactory arrangement. "

"It's the best I can do, " Moera said. "I'm sorry, Will. I'll see what Ican do about the organization. "

Barrent had to be satisfied with that. When the vehicle dropped him athis store, he still didn't know where she lived, or what kind of anorganization she represented. 

 * * * * *

Back in his apartment, he considered carefully the details of his dreamin the Dream Shop. It was all there: his anger at Therkaler, the illicitweapon, the encounter, the corpse, and then the informer and the judge. Only one thing was missing. He had no recollection of the actual murder, no memory of aiming the weapon and activating it. The dream stopped whenhe met Therkaler, and started again after he was dead. 

Perhaps he had blocked the moment of actual murder out of his mind; butperhaps there had been some provocation, some satisfactory reason whyhe had killed the man. He would have to find out. 

There were only two ways of getting information about Earth. One laythrough the horror-tinged visions of the Dream Shop, and he wasdetermined not to go there again. The other way was through the servicesof a skrenning mutant. 

Barrent had the usual distaste for mutants. They were another raceentirely, and their status of untouchability was no mere prejudice. Itwas well known that mutants often carried strange and incurablediseases. They were shunned, and they had reacted to exclusion byexclusiveness. They lived in the Mutant Quarter, which was almost aself-contained city within Tetrahyde. Citizens with good sense stayedaway from the Quarter, especially after dark; everyone knew that mutantscould be vindictive. 

But only mutants had the skrenning ability. In their misshapen bodieswere unusual powers and talents, odd and abnormal abilities which thenormal man shunned by day but secretly courted by night. Mutants weresaid to be in the particular favor of The Black One. Some people feltthat the great art of Black Magic, about which the priests boasted, could only be performed by a mutant; but one never said so in thepresence of a priest. 

Mutants, because of their strange talents, were reputed to remember muchmore of Earth than was possible for normal men and women. Not only couldthey remember Earth in general, but in particular they could skren thelife-thread of a man backward through space and time, pierce the wallof forgetfulness and tell what really had happened to him. 

Other people believed that mutants had no unusual abilities at all. Theyconsidered them clever rogues who lived off people's credulity. 

Barrent decided to find out for himself. Late one night, suitablycloaked and armed, he left his apartment and went to the MutantQuarter. 

Chapter Thirteen

Barrent walked through the narrow, twisting streets of the Quarter, onehand never far from his weapon. He walked among the lame and the blind, past hydrocephaloid and microcephalous idiots, past a juggler who kepttwelve flaming torches in the air with the aid of a rudimentary thirdhand growing out of his chest. There were vendors selling clothing, charms, and jewelry. There were carts loaded with pungent andunsanitary-looking food. He walked past a row of brightly paintedbrothels. Girls crowded the windows and shrieked at him, and afour-armed, six-legged woman told him he was just in time for theDelphian Rites. Barrent turned away from her and almost ran into amonstrously fat woman who pulled open her blouse to reveal eightshrunken breasts. He ducked around her, moving quickly past four linkedSiamese quadruplets who stared at him with huge mournful eyes. 

Barrent turned a corner and stopped. A tall, ragged old man with a canewas blocking his way. The man was half-blind; the skin had grown smoothand hairless over the socket where his left eye should have been. Buthis right eye was sharp and fierce under a white eyebrow. 

"You wish the services of a genuine skrenner?" the old man asked. 

Barrent nodded. 

"Follow me, " the mutant said. He turned into an alley, and Barrent cameafter him, gripping the butt of his needlebeam tightly. Mutants wereforbidden by law to carry arms; but like this old man, most of them hadheavy, iron-headed walking sticks. At close quarters, no one could askfor a better weapon. 

The old man opened a door and motioned Barrent inside. Barrent paused, thinking about the stories he had heard of gullible citizens fallinginto mutant hands. Then he half-drew his needlebeam and went inside. 

At the end of a long passageway, the old man opened a door and ledBarrent into a small, dimly lighted room. As his eyes became accustomedto the dark, Barrent could make out the shapes of two women sitting infront of a plain wooden table. There was a pan of water on the table, and in the pan was a fist-sized piece of glass cut into many facets. 

One of the women was very old and completely hairless. The other wasyoung and beautiful. As Barrent moved closer to the table, he saw, witha sense of shock, that her legs were joined below the knee by a membraneof scaly skin, and her feet were of a rudimentary fish-tail shape. 

"What do you wish us to skren for you, Citizen Barrent?" the young womanasked. 

"How did you know my name?" Barrent asked. When he got no answer, hesaid, "All right. I want to find out about a murder I committed onEarth. "

"Why do you want to find out about it?" the young woman asked. "Won'tthe authorities credit it to your record?"

"They credit it. But I want to find out why I did it. Maybe there wereextenuating circumstances. Maybe I did it in self-defense. "

"Is it really important?" the young woman asked. 

"I think so, " Barrent said. He hesitated a moment, then took the plunge. "The fact of the matter is, I have a neurotic prejudice against murder. I would rather _not_ kill. So I want to find out why I committed murderon Earth. "

The mutants looked at each other. Then the old man grinned and said, "Citizen, we'll help you all we can. We mutants also have a prejudiceagainst killing, since it's always someone else killing us. We're all infavor of citizens with a neurosis against murder. "

"Then you'll skren my past?"

"It's not as easy as that, " the young woman said. "The skrenningability, which is one of a cluster of psi talents, is difficult to use. It doesn't always function. And when it does function, it often doesn'treveal what it's supposed to. "

"I thought all mutants could look into the past whenever they wantedto, " Barrent said. 

"No, " the old man told him, "that isn't true. For one thing, not all ofus who are classified mutants are true mutants. Almost any deformity orabnormality these days is called mutantism. It's a handy term to coveranyone who doesn't conform to the Terran standard of appearance. "

"But some of you are true mutants?"

"Certainly. But even then, there are different types of mutantism. Somejust show radiation abnormalities--giantism, microcephaly, and the like. Only a few of us possess the slightest psi abilities--although allmutants claim them. "

"Are you able to skren?" Barrent asked him. 

"No. But Myla can, " he said, pointing to the young woman. "Sometimes shecan. "

The young woman was staring into the pan of water, into the facetedglass. Her pale eyes were open very wide, showing almost all pupil, andher fish-tailed body was rigidly upright, supported by the old woman. 

"She's beginning to see something, " the man said. "The water and theglass are just devices to focus her attention. Myla's good at skrenning, though sometimes she gets the future confused with the past. That sortof thing is embarrassing, and it gives skrenning a bad name. It can't behelped, though. Every once in a while the future is there in the water, and Myla has to tell what she sees. Last week she told a Hadji he wasgoing to die in four days. " The old man chuckled. "You should have seenthe expression on his face. "

"Did she see how he would die?" Barrent asked. 

"Yes. By a knife-thrust. The poor man stayed in his house for the entirefour days. "

"Was he killed?"

"Of course. His wife killed him. She was a strong-minded woman, I'mtold. "

Barrent hoped that Myla wouldn't skren any future for him. Life wasdifficult enough without a mutant's predictions to make it worse. 

She was looking up from the faceted glass now, shaking her head sadly. "There's very little I can tell you. I was not able to see the murderperformed. But I skrenned a graveyard, and in it I saw your parents'tombstone. It was an old tombstone, perhaps twenty years old. Thegraveyard was on the outskirts of a place on Earth called Youngerstun. "

Barrent reflected a moment, but the name meant nothing to him. 

"Also, " Myla said, "I skrenned a man who knows about the murder. He cantell you about it, if he will. "

"This man saw the murder?"

"Yes. "

"Is he the man who informed on me?"

"I don't know, " Myla said. "I skrenned the corpse, whose name wasTherkaler, and there was a man standing near it. That man's name wasIlliardi. "

"Is he here on Omega?"

"Yes. You can find him right now in the Euphoriatorium on Little AxeStreet. Do you know where that is?"

"I can find it, " Barrent said. He thanked the girl and offered payment, which she refused to take. She looked very unhappy. As Barrent wasleaving, she called out, "Be careful. "

Barrent stopped at the door, and felt an icy chill settle across hischest. "Did you skren my future?" he asked. 

"Only a little, " Myla said. "Only a few months ahead. "

"What did you see?"

"I can't explain it, " she said. "What I saw is impossible. "

"Tell me what it was. "

"I saw you dead. And yet, you weren't dead at all. You were looking at acorpse, which was shattered into shiny fragments. But the corpse wasalso you. "

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know, " Myla said. 

 * * * * *

The Euphoriatorium was a large, garish place which specialized incut-rate drugs and aphrodisiacs. It catered mostly to a peon andresident clientele. Barrent felt out of status as he shouldered his waythrough the crowd and asked a waiter where he could find a man namedIlliardi. 

The waiter pointed. In a corner booth, Barrent saw a bald, thick-shouldered man sitting over a tiny glass of thanapiquita. Barrentwent over and introduced himself. 

"Pleased to meet you, sir, " Illiardi said, showing the obligatoryrespect of a Second Class Resident for a Privileged Citizen. "How can Ibe of service?"

"I want to ask you a few questions about Earth, " Barrent said. 

"I can't remember much about the place, " Illiardi said. "But you'rewelcome to anything I know. "

"Do you remember a man named Therkaler?"

"Certainly, " Illiardi said. "Thin fellow. Cross-eyed. As mean a man asyou could find. "

"Were you present when he was killed?"

"I was there. It was the first thing I remembered when I got off theship. "

"Did you see who killed him?"

Illiardi looked puzzled. "I didn't have to see. _I_ killed him. "

Barrent forced himself to speak in a calm, steady voice. "Are you sureof that? Are you absolutely certain?"

"Of course I'm sure, " Illiardi said. "And I'll fight any man who triesto take credit for it. I killed Therkaler, and he deserved worse thanthat. "

"When you killed him, " Barrent asked, "did you see _me_ anywherearound?"

Illiardi looked at him carefully, then shook his head. "No, I don'tthink I saw you. But I can't be sure. Right after I killed Therkaler, everything goes sort of blank. "

"Thank you, " Barrent said. He left the Euphoriatorium. 

Chapter Fourteen

Barrent had much to think about, but the more he thought, the more hebecame confused. If Illiardi had killed Therkaler, why had Barrent beendeported to Omega? If an honest mistake had been made, why hadn't hebeen released when the true murderer was discovered? Why had someone onEarth accused him of a crime he hadn't committed? And why had a falsememory of that crime been superimposed on his mind just beneath theconscious level?

Barrent had no answers for his questions. But he knew that he had neverfelt like a murderer. Now he had proof, of sorts, that he wasn't amurderer. 

The sensation of innocence changed everything for him. He had lesstolerance for Omegan ways, and no interest at all in conforming to acriminal mode of life. The only thing he wanted was to escape from Omegaand return to his rightful heritage on Earth. 

But that was impossible. Day and night, the guardships circled overhead. Even if there had been some way of evading them, escape would stillhave been impossible. Omegan technology had progressed only as far asthe internal combustion engine; the only starships were commanded byEarth forces. 

Barrent continued to work in the Antidote Shop, but his lack of publicspirit was growing apparent. He ignored invitations from the Dream Shop, and never attended any of the popular public executions. When rovingmobs were formed to have a little fun in the Mutant Quarter, Barrentusually pleaded a headache. He never joined the Landing Day Hunts, andhe was rude to an accredited salesman from the Torture of the MonthClub. Not even visits from Uncle Ingemar could make him change hisantireligious ways. 

He knew he was asking for trouble. He expected trouble, and theknowledge was strangely exhilarating. After all, there was nothing wrongin breaking the law on Omega--as long as you could get away with it. 

 * * * * *

Within a month, he had a chance to test his decision. Walking to hisshop one day, a man shoved against him in a crowd. Barrent moved away, and the man grabbed him by a shoulder and pulled him around. 

"Who do you think you're pushing?" the man asked. He was short andstocky. His clothes indicated Privileged Citizen's rank. Five silverstars on his gunbelt showed his number of authorized kills. 

"I didn't push you, " Barrent said. 

"You lie, you _mutant-lover_. "

The crowd became silent when they heard the deadly insult. Barrentbacked away, waiting. The man went for his sidearm in a quick, artisticdraw. But Barrent's needlebeam was out a full half-second before theman's weapon had cleared his holster. 

He drilled the man neatly between the eyes; then, sensing movementbehind him, he swung around. 

Two Privileged Citizens were drawing heat guns. Barrent fired, aimingautomatically, dodging behind the protection of a shop front. The mencrumpled. The wooden front buckled under the impact of a projectileweapon and splinters slashed his hand. Barrent saw a fourth man firingat him from an alley. He brought the man down with two shots. 

And that was that. In the space of a few seconds, he had killed fourmen. 

Although he didn't think of himself as having a murderer's mentality, Barrent was pleased and elated. He had fired only in self-defense. Hehad given the status-seekers something to think about; they wouldn't beso quick to gun for him next time. Quite possibly they would concentrateon easier targets and leave him alone. 

When he returned to his shop, he found Joe waiting for him. The littlecredit thief had a sour look on his face. He said, "I saw your fancygun-work today. Very pretty. "

"Thank you, " Barrent said. 

"Do you think that sort of thing will help you? Do you think you canjust go on breaking the law?"

"I'm getting away with it, " Barrent said. 

"Sure. But how long do you think you can keep it up?"

"As long as I have to. "

"Not a chance, " Joe said. "_Nobody_ keeps on breaking the law andgetting away with it. Only suckers believe that. "

"They'd better send some good men after me, " Barrent said, reloading hisneedlebeam. 

"That's not how it'll happen, " Joe said. "Believe me, Will, there's nocounting the ways they have of getting you. Once the law decides tomove, there'll be nothing you can do to stop it. And don't expect anyhelp from that girl friend of yours, either. "

"Do you know her?" Barrent asked. 

"I know everybody, " Joe said moodily. "I've got friends in thegovernment. I know that people have had about enough of you. Listen tome, Will. Do you want to end up dead?"

Barrent shook his head. "Joe, can you visit Moera? Do you know how toreach her?"

"Maybe, " Joe said. "What for?"

"I want you to tell her something, " Barrent said. "I want you to tellher that I didn't commit the murder I was accused of on Earth. "

Joe stared at him. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No. I found the man who actually did it. He's a Second Class Residentnamed Illiardi. "

"Why spread it around?" Joe asked. "No sense in losing credit for thekill. "

"I didn't murder the man, " Barrent said. "I want you to tell Moera. Willyou?"

"I'll tell her, " Joe said. "If I can locate her. Look, will you rememberwhat I've said? Maybe you still have time to do something about it. Goto Black Mass or something. It might help. "

"Maybe I'll do that, " Barrent said. "You'll be sure to tell her?"

"I'll tell her, " Joe said. He left the Antidote Shop shaking his headsadly. 

Chapter Fifteen

Three days later, Barrent received a visit from a tall, dignified manwho stood as rigidly erect as the ceremonial sword that hung by hisside. The old man wore a high-collared coat, black pants, and gleamingblack boots. From his clothing, Barrent knew he was a high governmentofficial. 

"The government of Omega sends you greetings, " said the official. "I amNorins Jay, Sub-Minister of Games. I am here, as required by law, toinform you personally of your good fortune. "

Barrent nodded warily and invited the old man into his apartment. ButJay, erect and proper, preferred to stay in the store. 

"The yearly Lottery drawing was held last night, " Jay said. "You, Citizen Barrent, are one of the prize winners. I congratulate you. "

"What is the prize?" Barrent asked. He had heard of the yearly Lottery, but had only a vague idea of its significance. 

"The prize, " Jay said, "is honor and fame. Your name inscribed on thecivic rolls. Your record of kills preserved for posterity. Moreconcretely, you will receive a new government-issue needlebeam and, afterwards, you will be awarded posthumously the silver sunburstdecoration. "

"Posthumously?"

"Of course, " Jay said. "The silver sunburst is always awarded afterdeath. It is no less an honor for that. "

"I'm sure it isn't, " Barrent said. "Is there anything else?"

"Just one other thing, " Jay said. "As a Lottery winner, you will takepart in the symbolic ceremony of the Hunt, which marks the beginning ofthe yearly Games. The Hunt, as you may know, personifies our Omegan wayof life. In the Hunt we see all the complex factors of the dramatic riseand fall from grace, combined with the thrill of the duel and theexcitement of the chase. Even peons are allowed to participate in theHunt, for this is the one holiday open to all, and the one holiday thatsymbolizes the common man's ability to rise above the restraints of hisstatus. "

"If I understand correctly, " Barrent said, "I'm one of the people whohave been chosen to be hunted. "

"Yes, " Jay said. 

"But you said the ceremony is symbolic. Doesn't that mean no one getskilled?"

"Not at all!" Jay said. "On Omega, the symbol and the thing symbolizedare usually one and the same. When we say a Hunt, we mean a true hunt. Otherwise the thing would be mere pageantry. "

Barrent stopped a moment to consider the situation. It was not apleasing prospect. In a man-to-man duel he had an excellent chance ofsurvival. But the yearly Hunt, in which the entire population ofTetrahyde took part, gave him no chance at all. He should have beenready for a possibility like this. 

"How was I picked?" he asked. 

"By random selection, " said Norins Jay. "No other method would be fairto the Hunteds, who give up their lives for Omega's greater glory. "

"I can't believe I was picked purely by chance. "

"The selection was random, " Jay said. "It was made, of course, from alist of suitable victims. Not everyone can be a Quarry in a Hunt. A manmust have demonstrated a considerable degree of tenacity and skillbefore the Games Committee would think of considering him for selection. Being Hunted is an honor; it is not one which we confer lightly. "

"I don't believe it, " Barrent said. "You people in the government wereout to get me. Now, it seems, you've succeeded. It's as simple as that. "

"Not at all. I can assure you that none of us in the government bear youthe slightest ill will. You may have heard foolish stories aboutvindictive officials, but they simply aren't true. You have broken thelaw, but that is no longer the government's concern. Now it is entirelya matter between you and the law. "

Jay's frosty blue eyes flashed when he spoke of the law. His backstiffened, and his mouth grew firm. 

"The law, " he said, "is above the criminal and the judge, and rules themboth. The law is inescapable, for an action is either lawful orunlawful. The law, indeed, may be said to have a life of its own, anexistence quite apart from the finite lives of the beings whoadminister it. The law governs every aspect of human behavior;therefore, to the same extent that humans are lawful beings, the law ishuman. And being human, the law has its idiosyncrasies, just as a manhas his. For a citizen who abides by the law, the law is distant anddifficult to find. For those who reject and violate it, the law emergesfrom its musty sepulchers and goes in search of the transgressor. "

"And that, " Barrent said, "is why I was chosen for the Hunt?"

"Of course, " Jay said. "If you had not been chosen in that way, thezealous and never-sleeping law would have selected another means, usingwhatever instruments were at its disposal. "

"Thanks for telling me, " Barrent said. "How long do I have before theHunt begins?"

"Until dawn. The Hunt begins then, and ends at dawn of the followingday. "

"What happens if I'm not killed?"

Norins Jay smiled faintly. "That doesn't happen often, Citizen Barrent. I'm sure it need not worry you. "

"It happens, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Those who survive the Hunt are automatically enrolled in theGames. "

"And if I survive the Games?"

"Forget it, " Jay said in a friendly manner. 

"But what if I do?"

"Believe me, Citizen, you won't. "

"I still would like to know what happens if I do. "

"Those who live through the Games are beyond the law. "

"That sounds promising, " Barrent said. 

"It isn't. The law, even at its most threatening, is still yourguardian. Your rights may be few, but the law guarantees theirobservance. It is because of the law that I do not kill you here andnow. " Jay opened his hand, and Barrent saw a tiny single-charge weapon. "The law sets limits, and acts as a modifier upon the behavior of thelawbreaker and the law enforcer. To be sure, the law now states that youmust die. But all men must die. The law, by its ponderous andintrospective nature, gives you time in which to die. You have a day atleast; and without the law, you would have no time at all. "

"What happens, " Barrent asked, "if I survive the Games and pass beyondthe law?"

"There is only one thing beyond the law, " Norins Jay said reflectively, "and that is The Black One himself. Those who pass beyond the law belongto him. But it would be better to die a thousand times than to fallliving into the hands of The Black One. "

Barrent had long ago dismissed the religion of The Black One assuperstitious nonsense. But now, listening to Jay's earnest voice, hebegan to wonder. There might be a difference between the commonplaceworship of evil and the actual presence of Evil itself. 

"But if you have any luck, " Jay said, "you will be killed early. Now Iwill end the interview with your final instructions. "

Still holding the tiny weapon, Jay reached into a pocket with his freehand and withdrew a red pencil. In a quick, practiced motion he drew thepencil over Barrent's cheeks and forehead. He was finished beforeBarrent had time to recoil. 

"That marks you as one of the Hunted, " Jay said. "The hunt-marks areindelible. Here is your government-issue needlebeam. " He drew a weaponfrom his pocket and put it on the table. "The Hunt, as I told you, begins at first light of dawn. Anyone may kill you then, except anotherHunted man. You may kill in return. But I suggest that you do so withthe utmost circumspection. The sound and flash of needlebeams have givenmany Hunteds away. If you try concealment, be sure you have an exit. Remember that others know Tetrahyde better than you. Skilled Huntershave explored all the possible hiding places over the years; many of theHunted are trapped during the first hours of the holiday. Good luck, Citizen Barrent. "

Jay walked to the door. He opened it and turned to Barrent again. 

"There is, I might add, one barely possible way of preserving both lifeand liberty during the Hunt. But, since it is forbidden, I cannot tellyou what it is. "

Norins Jay bowed and went out. 

 * * * * *

Barrent found, after repeated washings, that the crimson hunt-marks onhis face were indeed indelible. During the evening, he disassembled thegovernment-issue needlebeam and inspected its parts. As he had suspectedthe weapon was defective. He discarded it in favor of his own. 

He made his preparations for the Hunt, putting food, water, a coil ofrope, a knife, extra ammunition, and a spare needlebeam into a smallknapsack. Then he waited, hoping against all reason that Moera and herorganization would bring him a last-minute reprieve. 

But no reprieve came. An hour before dawn, Barrent shouldered hisknapsack and left the Antidote Shop. He had no idea what the otherHunteds were doing; but he had already decided on a place that might besecure from the Hunters. 

Chapter Sixteen

Authorities on Omega agree that a Hunted man experiences a change ofcharacter. If he were able to look upon the Hunt as an abstract problem, he might arrive at certain more or less valid conclusions. But thetypical Hunted, no matter how great his intelligence, cannot divorceemotion from reasoning. After all, _he_ is being hunted. He becomespanic-stricken. Safety seems to lie in distance and depth. He goes asfar from home as possible; he goes deep into the ground along thesubterranean maze of sewers and conduits. He chooses darkness instead oflight, empty places in preference to crowded ones. 

This behavior is well known to experienced Hunters. Quite naturally, they look first in the dark, empty places, in the undergroundpassageways, in deserted stores and buildings. Here they find and flushthe Hunted with inexorable precision. 

Barrent had thought about this. He had discarded his first instinct, which was to hide in the intricate Tetrahyde cloaca. Instead, an hourbefore dawn, he went directly to the large, brightly lighted buildingthat housed the Ministry of Games. 

When the corridors seemed to be deserted, he entered quickly, read thedirectory, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He passed a dozenoffice doors, and finally stopped at the one marked NORINS JAY, SUB-MINISTER OF GAMES. He listened for a moment, then opened the doorand stepped in. 

There was nothing wrong with old Jay's reflexes. Before Barrent wasthrough the doorway, the old man had spotted the crimson hunt-marks onhis face. Jay opened a drawer and reached into it. 

Barrent had no desire to kill the old man. He flung the government-issueneedlebeam at Jay, and caught him full on the forehead. Jay staggeredback against the wall, then collapsed to the floor. 

Bending over him, Barrent found that his pulse was strong. He bound andgagged the sub-minister, and pushed him out of sight under his desk. Hunting through the drawers, he found a CONFERENCE: DO NOT DISTURB sign. He hung this outside the door, and locked it. With his own needlebeamdrawn, he sat down behind the desk and awaited events. 

Dawn came, and a watery sun rose over Omega. From the window, Barrentcould see the streets filled with people. There was a hectic carnivalatmosphere in the city, and the noise of the holiday celebration waspunctuated by the occasional hiss of a beamer or the flat explosion of aprojectile weapon. 

By noon, Barrent was still undetected. He looked through windows, andfound that he had access to the roof. He was glad to have an exit, justas Jay had suggested. 

By mid-afternoon, Jay had recovered consciousness. After struggling withhis bonds for a while, he lay quietly under the desk. 

Just before evening, someone knocked at the door. "Minister Jay, may Icome in?"

"Not at the moment, " Barrent said, in what he hoped was a fair imitationof Jay's voice. 

"I thought you'd be interested in the statistics of the Hunt, " the mansaid. "So far, Citizens have killed seventy-three Hunteds, with eighteenleft to go. That's quite an improvement over last year. "

"Yes, it is, " Barrent said. 

"The percentage who hid in the sewer system was larger this year. A fewtried to bluff it out by staying in their homes. We're tracking down therest in the usual places. "

"Excellent, " said Barrent. 

"None have made the break so far, " the man said. "Strange that Huntedsrarely think of it. But of course, it saves us from having to use themachines. "

Barrent wondered what the man was talking about. The break? Where wasthere to break to? And how would machines be used?

"We're already selecting alternates for the Games, " the man added. "I'dlike to have your approval of the list. "

"Use your own judgment, " Barrent said. 

"Yes, sir, " the man said. In a moment, Barrent heard his footstepsmoving down the hall. He decided that the man had become suspicious. Theconversation had lasted too long, he should have broken it off earlier. Perhaps he should move to a different office. 

Before he could do anything, there was a heavy pounding at the door. 

"Yes?"

"Citizen's Search Committee, " a bass voice answered. "Kindly open thedoor. We have reason to believe that a Hunted is hiding in there. "

"Nonsense, " Barrent said. "You can't come in. This is a governmentoffice. "

"We can, " the bass voice said. "No room, office, or building is closedto a Citizen on Hunt Day. Are you opening up?"

Barrent had already moved to the window. He opened it, and heard behindhim the sound of men hammering at the door. He fired through the doortwice to give them something to think about; then he climbed out throughthe window. 

 * * * * *

The rooftops of Tetrahyde, Barrent saw at once, looked like a perfectplace for a Hunted; therefore they were the last place a Hunted shouldbe. The maze of closely connected roofs, chimneys, and spires seemedmade to order for a chase; but men were already on the roofs. Theyshouted when they saw him. 

Barrent broke into a sprint. Hunters were behind him, and others wereclosing in from the sides. He leaped a five-foot gap between buildings, managed to hold his balance on a steeply pitched roof, and scrambledaround the side. 

Panic gave him speed. He was leaving the Hunters behind. If he couldkeep up the pace for another ten minutes, he would have a substantiallead. He might be able to leave the roofs and find a better place forconcealment. 

Another five-foot gap between buildings came up. Barrent leaped itwithout hesitation. 

He landed well. But his right foot went completely through rottedshingles, burying itself to the hip. He braced himself and pulled, trying to extricate his leg, but he couldn't get a purchase on thesteep, crumbling roof. 

"There he is!"

Barrent wrenched at the shingles with both hands. The Hunters werealmost within needlebeam distance. By the time he got his leg out, hewould be an easy target. 

He had ripped a three-foot hole in the roof by the time the Huntersappeared on the next building. Barrent pulled his leg free; then, seeingno alternative, he jumped into the hole. 

For a second he was in the air; then he landed feet-first on a tablewhich collapsed under him, spilling him to the floor. He got up and sawthat he was in a Hadji-class living room. An old woman sat in a rockingchair less than three feet away. Her jaw was slack with terror; she kepton rocking automatically. 

Barrent heard the Hunters crossing to the roof. He went through thekitchen and out the back door, under a tangle of clotheslines andthrough a small hedge. Someone fired at him from a second-story window. Looking up, he saw a young boy trying to aim a heavy heat beamer. Hisfather had probably forbidden him to hunt in the streets. 

Barrent turned into a street, and sprinted until he reached an alley. Itlooked familiar. He realized that he was in the Mutant Quarter, not farfrom Myla's house. 

He could hear the cries of the Hunters behind him. He reached Myla'shouse, and found the door unlocked. 

 * * * * *

They were all together--the one-eyed man, the bald old woman, and Myla. They showed no surprise at his entrance. 

"So they picked you in the Lottery, " the old man said. "Well, it's whatwe expected. "

Barrent asked, "Did Myla skren it in the water?"

"There was no need to, " the old man said. "It was quite predictable, considering the sort of person you are. Bold but not ruthless. That'syour trouble, Barrent. "

The old man had dropped the obligatory form of address for a PrivilegedCitizen; and that, under the circumstances, was predictable, too. 

"I've seen it happen year after year, " the old man said. "You'd besurprised how many promising young men like yourself end up in thisroom, out of breath, holding a needlebeam as though it weighed a tonwith Hunters three minutes behind them. They expect us to help them, butmutants like to stay out of trouble. "

"Shut up, Dem, " the old woman said. 

"I guess we have to help you, " Dem said. "Myla's decided on it forreasons of her own. " He grinned sardonically. "Her mother and I told hershe was wrong, but she insisted. And since she's the only one of us whocan skren, we must let her have her own way. "

Myla said, "Even with us helping you, there's very little chance thatyou'll live through the Hunt. "

"If I'm killed, " Barrent said, "how will your prediction come true?Remember, you saw me looking at my own corpse, and it was in shinyfragments. "

"I remember, " Myla said. "But your death won't affect the prediction. Ifit doesn't happen to you in this lifetime, it will simply catch up toyou in a different incarnation. "

Barrent was not comforted. He asked, "What should I do?"

The old man handed him an armful of rags. "Put these on, and I'll go towork on your face. You, my friend, are going to become a mutant. "

 * * * * *

In a short time, Barrent was back on the street. He was dressed in rags. Beneath them he was holding his needlebeam, and in his free hand was abegging cup. The old man had worked lavishly with a pinkish-yellowplastic. Barrent's face was now monstrously swollen at the forehead, andhis nose was flat and spread out almost to the cheekbones. The shape ofhis face had been altered, and the livid hunt-marks were hidden. 

A detachment of Hunters raced past, barely giving him a glance. Barrentbegan to feel more hopeful. He had gained valuable time. The last lightof Omega's watery sun was disappearing below the horizon. Night wouldgive him additional opportunities, and with any luck he could elude theHunters until dawn. After that were the Games, of course; but Barrentwasn't planning on taking part in them. If his disguise was good enoughto protect him from an entire hunting city, there was no reason why heshould be captured for the Games. 

Perhaps, after the holiday was over, he could appear again in Omegansociety. Quite possibly if he managed to survive the Hunt and altogetherescape the Games, he would be especially rewarded. Such a presumptuousand successful breaking of the law would have to be rewarded.... 

He saw another group of Hunters coming toward him. There were five inthe group, and with them was Tem Rend, looking somber and proud in hisnew Assassin's uniform. 

"You!" one of the Hunters shouted. "Have you seen a Quarry pass thisway?"

"No, Citizen, " Barrent said, bowing his head respectfully, hisneedlebeam ready under his rags. 

"Don't believe him, " a man said. "These damned mutants never tell us athing. "

"Come on, we'll find him, " another man said. The group moved away, butTem Rend stayed behind. 

"You sure you haven't seen one of the Hunted go by here?" Rend asked. 

"Positive, Citizen, " Barrent said, wondering if Rend had recognized him. He didn't want to kill him; in fact, he wasn't sure he could, for Rend'sreflexes were uncannily fast. Right now, Rend's needlebeam was hangingloosely from his hand, while Barrent's was already aimed. Thatsplit-second advantage might cancel out Rend's superior speed andaccuracy. But if it came to conclusions, Barrent thought, it wouldprobably be a tie; in which case, they would more than likely kill eachother. 

"Well, " Rend said, "if you _do_ see any of the Hunted, tell them not todisguise themselves as mutants. "

"Why not?"

"That trick never works for long, " Rend said evenly. "It gives a manabout an hour's grace. Then the informers spot him. Now if _I_ werebeing hunted, I might use mutant's disguise. But I wouldn't just sit ona curbstone with it. I'd make a break out of Tetrahyde. "

"You would?"

"Most certainly. A few Hunteds every year escape into the mountains. Theofficials won't talk about it, of course, and most citizens don't know. But the Assassin's Guild keeps complete records of every trick, device, and escape ever used. It's part of our business. "

"That's very interesting, " Barrent said. He knew that Rend had seenthrough his disguise. Tem was being a good neighbor--though a badassassin. 

"Of course, " Rend said, "it isn't easy to get out of the city. And oncea man's out, that doesn't mean he's clear. There are Hunter patrols towatch out for, and even worse than that--"

Rend stopped abruptly. A group of Hunters were coming toward them. Rendnodded pleasantly and walked off. 

After the Hunters had passed, Barrent got up and started walking. Rendhad given him good advice. Of course some men would escape from thecity. Life in Omega's barren mountains would be extremely difficult; butany difficulty was better than death. 

If he were able to get by the city gate, he would have to watch for thehunting patrols. And Tem had mentioned something worse. Barrentwondered what that was. Special mountain-trained Hunters, perhaps?Omega's unstable climate? Deadly flora and fauna? He wished Rend hadbeen able to finish the sentence. 

By nightfall he had reached the South Gate. Bent painfully over, hehobbled toward the guard detachment that blocked his way out. 

Chapter Seventeen

There was no trouble with the guards. Whole families of mutants werestreaming out of the city, seeking the protection of the mountains untilthe frenzy of the Hunt was over. Barrent attached himself to one ofthese groups, and soon he found himself a mile past Tetrahyde, in thelow foothills that curled in a semicircle around the city. 

The mutants stopped here and made their camp. Barrent went on, and bymidnight he was starting up the rocky, windswept slope of one of thehigher mountains. He was hungry, but the cool, clear air wasexhilarating. He began to believe that he really would live through theHunt. 

He heard a noisy group of Hunters making a sweep around the mountain. Heavoided them easily in the darkness, and continued climbing. Soon therewas no sound except the steady rush of wind across the cliffs. It wasperhaps two in the morning; only three more hours until dawn. 

In the small hours of the morning it began to rain, lightly at first, then in a cold torrent. This was predictable weather for Omega. Predictable also were the towering thunderheads that formed over themountains, the rolling thunder, and the vivid yellow flashes oflightning. Barrent found shelter in a shallow cave, and counted himselflucky that the temperature had not yet plunged. 

He sat in the cave, half-dozing, the remnants of his makeup running downhis face, keeping a sleepy watch over the slope of the mountain belowhim. Then, in the brilliant illumination of a lightning flash, he sawsomething moving up the slope, heading directly toward his cave. 

He stood up, the needlebeam ready, and waited for another lightningflash. It came, and now he could see the cold, wet gleam of metal, aflashing of red and green lights, a pair of metal tentacles taking gripson the rocks and small shrubs of the mountainside. 

It was a machine similar to the one Barrent had fought in the cellars ofthe Department of Justice. Now he knew what Rend had wanted to warn himabout. And he could see why few of the Hunted escaped, even if they gotbeyond the city itself. This time, Max would not be operating at randomto make a more equal contest out of it. And there would be no exposedfuse box. 

As Max came within range, Barrent fired. The blast bounced harmlesslyoff the machine's armored hide. Barrent left the shelter of his cave andbegan to climb. 

The machine came steadily behind him, up the treacherous wet face of themountain. Barrent tried to lose it on a plateau of jagged boulders, butMax couldn't be shaken. Barrent realized that the machine must befollowing a scent of some kind; probably it was keyed to follow theindelible paint on Barrent's face. 

On a steep face of the mountain, Barrent rolled boulders onto themachine, hoping he could start an avalanche. Max dodged most of theflying rocks, and let the rest bounce off him, with no visible effect. 

At last Barrent was backed into a narrow, steep-sided angle of cliff. Hewas unable to climb any higher. He waited. When the machine loomed overhim, he held the needlebeam against its metal hide and held down thetrigger. 

Max shuddered for a moment under the impact of the needlebeam's fullcharge. Then it brushed the weapon away and wrapped a tentacle aroundBarrent's neck. The metal coils tightened. Barrent felt himself losingconsciousness. He had time to wonder whether the coils would stranglehim or break his neck. 

Suddenly the pressure was gone. The machine had backed away a few feet. Past it, Barrent could see the first gray light of dawn. 

He had lived through the Hunt. The machine was not programmed to killhim after dawn. But it wouldn't let him go. It kept him captive in thenarrow angle of the cliff until the Hunters came. 

They brought Barrent back to Tetrahyde, where a wildly applauding crowdgave him a hero's welcome. After a two-hour procession, Barrent and fourother survivors were taken to the office of the Awards Committee. TheChairman made a short and moving speech about the skill and courage eachhad shown in surviving the Hunt. He gave each of them the rank of Hadji, and presented them with the tiny golden earrings which showed theirstatus. 

At the end of the ceremony, the Chairman wished each of the new Hadjisan easy death in the Games. 

Chapter Eighteen

Guards led Barrent from the office of the Awards Committee. He wasbrought past a row of dungeons under the Arena, and locked into a cell. The guards told him to be patient; the Games had already begun, and histurn would come soon. 

There were nine men crammed into a cell which had been built to holdthree. Most of them sat or sprawled in complete and silent apathy, already resigned to their deaths. But one of them was definitely notresigned. He pushed his way to the front of the cell as Barrent entered. 

"Joe!"

The little credit thief grinned at him. "A sad place to meet, Will. "

"What happened to you?"

"Politics, " Joe said. "It's a dangerous business on Omega, especiallyduring the time of the Games. I thought I was safe. But ... " He shruggedhis shoulders. "I was selected for the Games this morning. "

"Is there any chance of getting out of it?"

"There's a chance, " Joe said. "I told your girl about you, so perhapsher friends can do something. As for me, I'm expecting a reprieve. "

"Is that possible?" Barrent asked. 

"Anything is possible. It's better not to hope for it, though. "

"What are the Games like?" Barrent asked. 

"They're the sort of thing you'd expect, " Joe said. "Man-to-man combats, battles against various types of Omegan flora and fauna, needlebeam andheatgun duels. It's all copied from an old Earth festival, I'm told. "

"And if anyone survives, " Barrent said, "they're beyond the law. "

"That's right. "

"But what does it mean to be beyond the law?"

"I don't know, " Joe said. "Nobody seems to know much about that. All Icould find out is, survivors of the Games are taken by The Black One. It's not supposed to be pleasant. "

"I can understand that. Very little on Omega _is_ pleasant. "

"It isn't a bad place, " Joe said. "You just haven't the proper spiritof--"

He was interrupted by the arrival of a detachment of guards. It was timefor the occupants of Barrent's cell to enter the Arena. 

"No reprieve, " Barrent said. 

"Well, that's how it goes, " Joe said. 

They were marched out under heavy guard and lined up at the iron doorthat separated the cell block from the main Arena. Just before thecaptain of the guards opened the door, a fat, well-dressed man camehurrying down a side corridor waving a paper. 

"What's this?" the captain of the guards asked. 

"A writ of recognizance, " the fat man said, handing his paper tothe captain. "On the other side, you'll find a cease-and-desistorder. " He pulled more papers out of his pockets. "And here is abankruptcy-transferral notice, a chattel mortgage, a writ of habeascorpus, and a salary attachment. "

The captain pushed back his helmet and scratched his narrow forehead. "Ican never understand what you lawyers are talking about. What does itmean?"

"It releases him, " the fat man said, pointing to Joe. 

The captain took the papers, gave them a single puzzled glance, andhanded them to an aide. "All right, " he said, "take him with you. But itwasn't like this in the old days. _Nothing_ stopped the orderlyprogression of the Games. "

Grinning triumphantly, Joe stepped through the ranks of guards andjoined the fat lawyer. He asked him, "Do you have any papers for WillBarrent?"

"None, " the lawyer said. "His case is in different hands. I'm afraid itmight not be completely processed until after the Games are over. "

"But I'll probably be dead then, " Barrent said. 

"That, I can assure you, won't stop the papers from being properlyserved, " the fat lawyer said proudly. "Dead or alive, you will retainall your rights. "

The captain of the guards said, "All right, let's go. "

"Luck, " Joe called out. And then the line of prisoners had passedthrough the iron door into the glaring light of the Arena. 

 * * * * *

Barrent lived through the hand-to-hand duels in which a quarter of theprisoners were killed. After that, men armed with swords were matchedagainst the deadlier Omegan fauna. The beasts they fought included thehintolyte and the hintosced--big-jawed, heavily armored monsters whosenatural habitat was the desert region far to the south of Tetrahyde. Fifteen men later, these beasts were dead. Barrent was matched with aSaunus, a flying black reptile from the western mountains. For a whilehe was hard-pressed by this ugly, poison-toothed creature. But in timehe figured out a solution. He stopped trying to jab the Saunus'sleathery hide and concentrated on severing its broad fan oftailfeathers. When he had succeeded, the Saunus's flying balance wasthrown badly off. The reptile crashed into the high wall that separatedthe combatants from the spectators, and it was relatively easy toadminister the final stroke through the Saunus's single huge eye. Thevast and enthusiastic crowd in the stadium gave Barrent a lengthy roundof applause. 

He moved back to the reserve pen and watched other men struggle againstthe trichomotreds, incredibly fast little creatures the size of rats, with the dispositions of rabid wolverines. It took five teams ofprisoners. After a brief interlude of hand-to-hand duelling, the Arenawas cleared again. 

Now the hard-shelled criatin amphibians lumbered in. Although sluggishin disposition, the criatins were completely protected beneath severalinches of shell. Their narrow whiplash tails, which also served them asantennae, were invariably fatal to any man who approached them. Barrenthad to fight one of these after it had dispatched four of his fellowprisoners. 

He had watched the earlier combats carefully, and had detected the oneplace where the criatin antennae could not reach. Barrent waited for hischance and jumped for the center of the criatin's broad back. 

When the shell split into a gigantic mouth--for this was the criatinmethod of feeding--Barrent jammed his sword into the opening. Thecriatin expired with gratifying promptness, and the crowd signified itsapproval by showering the Arena with cushions. 

The victory left Barrent standing alone on the blood-stained sand. Therest of the prisoners were either dead or too badly maimed to fight. Barrent waited, wondering what beast the Games Committee had chosennext. 

A single tendril shot up through the sand, and then another. Withinseconds, a short, thick tree was growing in the Arena, sending out moreroots and tendrils, and pulling all flesh, living or dead, into fivesmall feeding-mouths which circled the base of the trunk. This was thecarrion tree, indigenous to the northeastern swamps and imported withgreat difficulty. It was said to be highly vulnerable to fire; butBarrent had no fire available. 

Using his sword two-handed, Barrent lopped off vines; others grew intheir place. He worked with frantic speed to keep the vines fromsurrounding him. His arms were becoming tired, and the tree regeneratedfaster than he could cut it down. There seemed no way of destroying it. 

His only hope lay in the tree's slow movements. These were fast enough, but nothing compared with human musculature. Barrent ducked out of acorner in which the creeping vines were trapping him. Another sword waslying twenty yards away, half-buried in the sand. Barrent reached it, and heard warning shouts from the crowd. He felt a vine close around hisankles. 

He hacked at it, and other vines coiled around his waist. He dug hisheels into the sand and clashed the swords together, trying to produce aspark. 

On his first try, the sword in his right hand broke in half. 

Barrent picked up the halves and kept on trying as the vines dragged himcloser to the feeding mouths. A shower of sparks flew from the clangingsteel. One of them touched a vine. 

With incredible suddenness the vine burst into flame. The flame spurteddown the length of the vine to the main tree system. The five mouthsmoaned as the fire leaped toward them. 

If matters had been left to continue, Barrent would have been burned todeath, for the Arena was nearly filled with the highly combustiblevines. But the flames were endangering the wooden walls of the Arena. The Tetrahyde guard detachment put the fire out in time to save bothBarrent and the spectators. 

Swaying with exhaustion, Barrent stood in the center of the Arena, wondering what would be used next against him. But nothing happened. After a moment, a signal was made from the President's box, and thecrowd roared in applause. 

The Games were over. Barrent had survived. 

Still no one left his seat. The audience was waiting to see the finaldisposition of Barrent, who had passed beyond the law. 

He heard a low, reverent gasp from the crowd. Turning quickly, Barrentsaw a fiery dot of light appear in mid-air. It swelled, threw outstreamers of light, and gathered them in again. It grew rapidly, toobrilliant to look upon. And Barrent remembered Uncle Ingemar saying tohim, "Sometimes, The Black One rewards us by appearing in the awfulbeauty of his fiery flesh. Yes, Nephew, I have actually been privilegedto see him. Two years ago he appeared at the Games, and he also appearedthe year before that.... "

The dot became a red and yellow globe about twenty feet in diameter, itslowest curve not quite touching the ground. It grew again. The center ofthe globe became thinner; a waist appeared, and above the waist theglobe turned an impenetrable black. It was two globes now, onebrilliant, one dark, joined by a narrow waist. As Barrent watched, thedark globe lengthened and changed into the unforgettable horn-headedshape of The Dark One. 

Barrent tried to run, but the huge black-headed figure swept forward andengulfed him. He was trapped in a blinding swirl of radiance, withdarkness above it. The light bored into his head, and he tried toscream. Then he passed out. 

Chapter Nineteen

Barrent recovered consciousness in a dim, high-ceilinged room. He waslying on a bed. Two people were standing near by. They seemed to bearguing. 

"There simply isn't any more time to wait, " a man was saying. "You failto appreciate the urgency of the situation. "

"The doctor said he needs at least another three days of rest. " It was awoman's voice. After a moment, Barrent realized that Moera was speaking. 

"He can have three days. "

"And he needs time for indoctrination. "

"You told me he was bright. The indoctrination shouldn't take long. "

"It might take weeks. "

"Impossible. The ship lands in six days. "

"Eylan, " Moera said, "you're trying to move too fast. We can't do itthis time. On the next Landing Day we will be much better prepared--"

"The situation will be out of hand by then, " the man said. "I'm sorry, Moera, we have to use Barrent immediately, or not use him at all. "

Barrent said, "Use me for what? Where am I? Who are you?"

The man turned to the bed. In the faint light, Barrent saw a very tall, thin, stooped old man with a wispy moustache. 

"I'm glad you're awake, " he said. "My name is Swen Eylan. I'm in commandof Group Two. "

"What's Group Two?" Barrent asked. "How did you get me out of the Arena?Are you agents of The Black One?"

Eylan grinned. "Not exactly agents. We'll explain everything to youshortly. First, I think you'd better have something to eat and drink. "

 * * * * *

A nurse brought in a tray. While Barrent ate, Eylan pulled up a chairand told Barrent about The Black One. 

"Our Group, " Eylan said, "can't claim to have started the religion ofEvil. That appears to have sprung up spontaneously on Omega. But sinceit was there, we have made occasional use of it. The priests have beenremarkably cooperative. After all, the worshipers of Evil set a highpositive value upon corruption. Therefore, in the eyes of an Omeganpriest, the appearance of a fraudulent Black One is not anathema. Quitethe contrary, for in the orthodox worship of Evil, a great deal ofemphasis is put upon false images--especially if they are big, fiery, impressive images like the one which rescued you from the Arena. "

"How did you produce that?" Barrent asked. 

"It has to do with friction surfaces and planes of force, " Eylan said. "You'd have to ask our engineers for more details. "

"Why did you rescue me?" Barrent asked. 

Eylan glanced at Moera, who shrugged her shoulders. Lookinguncomfortable, Eylan said, "We'd like to use you for an important job. But before I tell you about it, I think you should know something aboutour organization. Certainly you must have some curiosity about us. "

"A great deal, " Barrent said. "Are you some kind of criminal elite?"

"We're an elite, " Eylan said, "but we don't consider ourselves criminal. Two entirely different types of people have been sent to Omega. Thereare the true criminals guilty of murder, arson, armed robbery, and thelike. Those are the people you lived among. And there are the peopleguilty of deviational crimes such as political unreliability, scientificunorthodoxy, and irreligious attitudes. These people compose ourorganization, which, for the purposes of identification, we call GroupTwo. As far as we can remember and reconstruct, our crimes were largelya matter of holding different opinions from those which prevailed uponEarth. We were nonconformists. We probably constituted an unstableelement, and a threat to the entrenched powers. Therefore we weredeported to Omega. "

"And you separated yourselves from the other deportees, " Barrent said. 

"Yes, necessarily. For one thing, the true criminals of Group One arenot readily controllable. We couldn't lead them, nor could we allowourselves to be led by them. But more important than that, we had a jobto do that could only be performed in secrecy. We had no idea whatdevices the guardships employed to watch the surface of Omega. To keepour security intact, we went underground--literally. The room you're innow is about two hundred feet below the surface. We stay out of sight, except for special agents like Moera, who separate the political andsocial prisoners who belong in Group Two from the others. "

"You didn't separate me, " Barrent said. 

"Of course not. You were allegedly guilty of murder, which put you inGroup One. However, your behavior was not typical of Group One. Youseemed like good potential material for us, so we helped you from timeto time. But we had to be sure of you before taking you into the Group. Your repudiation of the murder charge was strongly in your favor. Also, we questioned Illiardi after you had located him. There seemed no reasonto doubt that he performed the murder you were charged with. Even morestrongly in your favor were your high survival qualities, which hadtheir ultimate test in the Hunt and the Games. We were badly in need ofa man of your abilities. "

"Just what is your work?" Barrent asked. "What do you want toaccomplish?"

"We want to go back to Earth, " Eylan said. 

"But that's impossible. "

"We don't think so, " Eylan said. "We've given the matter considerablestudy. In spite of the guardships, we think it's possible to return toEarth. We'll find out for certain in six days, when the breakout must bemade. "

Moera said, "It would be better to wait another six months. "

"Impossible. A six months' delay would be ruinous. Every society has apurpose, and the criminal population of Omega is bent upon its ownself-destruction. Barrent, you look surprised. Couldn't you see that?"

"I never thought about it, " Barrent said. "After all, I was part of it. "

"It's self-evident, " Eylan said. "Consider the institutions--allcentered around legalized murder. The holidays are excuses for massmurders. Even the law, which governs the rate of murder, is beginning tobreak down. The population lives near the edge of chaos. And rightfullyso. There's no longer any security. The only way to live is to kill. Theonly way to rise in status is to kill. The only safe thing is tokill--more and more, faster and faster. "

"You exaggerate, " Moera said. 

"I don't think so. I realize that there seems to be a certain permanenceto Omegan institutions, a certain inherent conservatism even to murder. But it's an illusion. I have no doubt that all dying societies projectedtheir illusion of permanence--right up to the end. Well, the end ofOmegan society is rapidly approaching. "

"How soon?" Barrent asked. 

"An explosion point will be reached in about four months, " Eylan said. "The only way to change that would be to give the population a newdirection, a different cause. "

"Earth, " Barrent said. 

"Exactly. That's why the attempt must be made immediately. "

"Well, I don't know much about it, " Barrent said. "But I'll go alongwith you. I'll gladly be a part of any expedition. "

Eylan looked uncomfortable again. "I suppose I haven't made myselfclear, " he said. "_You_ are going to be the expedition, Barrent. You andonly you.... Forgive me if I've startled you. "

Chapter Twenty

According to Eylan, Group Two had at least one serious flaw: the men whocomposed it were, for the most part, past their physical prime. Therewere some younger members, of course; but they had had little contactwith violence, and little chance to develop traits of self-sufficiency. Secure in the underground, most of them had never fired a beamer inanger, had never been forced to run for their lives, had neverencountered the make-or-break situations through which Barrent hadlived. They were brave but unproven. They would willingly undertake theexpedition to Earth; but they would have little chance of success. 

"And you think I would have a chance?" Barrent asked. 

"I think so. You're young and strong, reasonably intelligent, andextremely resourceful. You have a high survival quotient. If any mancould succeed, I believe you could. "

"Why one man?"

"Because there's no sense in sending a group. The chance of detectionwould simply be increased. By using one man, we get maximum security andopportunity. If you succeed, we will receive valuable information aboutthe nature of the enemy. If you don't succeed, if you are captured, yourattempt will be considered the action of an individual rather than agroup. We will still be free to start a general uprising from Omega. "

"How am I supposed to get back to Earth?" Barrent asked. "Do you have astarship hidden away somewhere?"

"I'm afraid not. We plan to transport you to Earth aboard the nextprison ship. "

"That's impossible. "

"Not at all. We've studied the landings. They follow a pattern. Theprisoners are marched out, accompanied by the guards. While they'reassembled in the square, the ship itself is undefended, although looselysurrounded by a cordon of guards. To get you aboard, we will start adisturbance. It should take away the guards' attention long enough foryou to get on board. "

"Even if I succeed, I'll be captured as soon as the guards return. "

"You shouldn't be, " Eylan said, "The prison ship is an immense structurewith many hiding places for a stowaway. And the element of surprise willbe in your favor. This may be the first time in the history of Omegathat an escape has been attempted. "

"And when the ship reaches Earth?"

"You will be disguised as a member of the ship's personnel, " Eylan said. "Remember, the inevitable inefficiency of a huge bureaucracy will beworking for you. "

"I hope so, " Barrent said. "Let's suppose I reach Earth safely and getthe information you want. How do I send it back?"

"You send it back on the next prison ship, " Eylan said. "We plan tocapture that one. "

Barrent rubbed his forehead wearily. "What makes you think that any ofthis--my expedition or your uprising--can succeed against anorganization as powerful as Earth?"

"We have to take the chance, " Eylan said. "Take it or go down in abloody shambles with the rest of Omega. I agree that the odds areweighted against us. But our choice is either to make the attempt or todie without making any attempt at all. "

Moera nodded at this. "Also, the situation has other possibilities. Thegovernment of Earth is obviously repressive. That argues the existenceof underground resistance groups on Earth itself. You may be able tocontact those groups. A revolt both here _and_ on Earth would give thegovernment something to think about. "

"Maybe, " Barrent said. 

"We have to hope for the best, " Eylan said. "Are you with us?"

"Certainly, " Barrent said. "I'd rather die on Earth than on Omega. "

"The prison ship lands in six days, " Eylan said. "During that time, wewill give you the information we have about Earth. Part of it is memoryreconstruction, part has been skrenned by the mutants, and the rest islogical constructs. It's all we have, and I think it gives a reasonablyaccurate picture of current conditions on Earth. "

"How soon do we start?" Barrent asked. 

"Right now, " Eylan said. 

 * * * * *

Barrent received a general briefing on the physical make-up of Earth, its climate and major population centers. Then he was sent to ColonelBray, formerly of the Earth Deep Space Establishment. Bray talked to himabout the probable military strength of Earth as represented by thenumber of guardships around Omega and their apparent level of scientificdevelopment. He gave estimates of the size of the Earth forces, theirprobable divisions into land, sea, and space groups, their assumed levelof efficiency. An aide, Captain Carell, lectured on special weapons, their probable types and ranges, their availability to the general Earthpopulation. Another aide, Lieutenant Daoud, talked about detectiondevices, their probable locations, and how to avoid them. 

Then Barrent was turned back to Eylan for political indoctrination. Fromhim, Barrent learned that Earth was believed to be a dictatorship. Helearned the methods of a dictatorship, its peculiar strengths andweaknesses, the role of the secret police, the use of terror, theproblem of informers. 

When Eylan was finished with him, Barrent went to a small, beady-eyedman who lectured on Earth's memory-destroying system. Using the premisethat memory-destruction was regularly employed to render oppositionineffective, the man went on to construct the probable nature of anunderground movement on Earth given those circumstances, and how Barrentmight contact them, and what the underground's capabilities might be. 

Finally he was given the full details of Group Two's plan for gettinghim on board the ship. 

When Landing Day came, Barrent felt a definite sense of relief. He washeartily sick of day and night cramming. Any sort of action would seeman improvement. 

Chapter Twenty-One

Barrent watched the huge prison ship maneuver into position and sinknoiselessly to the ground. It gleamed dully in the afternoon sun, tangible proof of Earth's long reach and powerful grasp. A hatch opened, and a landing stage was let down. The prisoners, flanked by guards, marched down and assembled in the square. 

As usual, most of the population of Tetrahyde had gathered to watch andcheer the disembarkation ceremony. Barrent moved through the crowd andstationed himself behind the ranks of prisoners and guards. He touchedhis pocket to make sure the needlebeam was still there. It had been madefor him by Group Two fabricators, completely of plastic to escape anymetals detector. The rest of his pockets were stuffed with equipment. Hehoped he wouldn't have to use any of it. 

The loudspeaker voice began to read off the prisoners' numbers, as ithad when Barrent had disembarked. He listened, knees slightly bent, waiting for the beginning of the diversion. 

The loudspeaker voice was coming to the end of the prisoner list. Therewere only ten left. Barrent edged forward. The voice droned on. Fourprisoners left, three.... 

As the number of the last prisoner was announced, the diversion began. Ablack cloud of smoke darkened the pale sky, and Barrent knew that theGroup had set fire to the empty barracks in Square A-2. He waited. 

Then it came. There was a stupendous explosion, blasting through tworows of empty buildings. The shock wave was staggering. Even beforedebris began to fall, Barrent was running toward the ship. 

The second and third explosions went off as he came into the ship'sshadow. Quickly he stripped off his Omegan outer garments. Under them, he wore a facsimile of guard's uniform. Now he ran toward the landingstage. 

The loudspeaker voice was calling loudly for order. The guards werestill bewildered. 

The fourth explosion threw Barrent to the ground. He got to his feetinstantly and sprinted up the landing stage. He was inside the ship. Outside, he could hear the guard captain shouting orders. The guardswere beginning to form into ranks, their weapons ready to use againstthe restive crowd. They were retreating to the ship in good order. 

Barrent had no more time to listen. He was standing in a long, narrowcorridor. He turned to the right and raced toward the bow of the ship. Far behind him, he could hear the heavy marching tread of the guards. 

Now, he thought, the information he had been given about the ship hadbetter be right, or the expedition was finished before it began. 

He sprinted past rows of empty cells, and came to a door marked GUARDASSEMBLY ROOM. A lighted green bulb above the door showed that the airsystem was on. He went by it, and came to another door. Barrent tried itnow, and found it unlocked. Within was a room stacked high with spareengine parts. He entered and closed the door. 

The guards marched down the corridor. Barrent could hear them talking asthey entered the assembly room. 

"What do you think started those explosions?"

"Who knows? Those prisoners are crazy, anyhow. "

"They'd blow up the whole planet, if they could. "

"Good riddance. "

"Well, it didn't cause any damage. There was an explosion like thatabout fifteen years ago. Remember?"

"I wasn't here then. "

"Well, it was worse than this. Two guards were killed, and maybe ahundred prisoners. "

"What started it?"

"Don't know. These Omegans just enjoy blowing things up. "

"Next thing you know, they'll be trying to blow _us_ up. "

"Not a chance. Not with the guardships up there. "

"You think so? Well, I'll be glad to get back to the checkpoint. "

"You said it. Be good to get off this ship and live a little. "

"It isn't a bad life at the checkpoint, but I'd rather go back toEarth. "

"Well, you can't have everything. "

The last of the guards entered the assembly room and dogged the doorshut. Barrent waited. After a while, he felt the ship vibrate. It wasbeginning its departure. 

He had learned some valuable information. Apparently all or most of theguards got off at the checkpoint. Did that mean that another detachmentof guards got on? Probably. And a checkpoint implied that the ship wassearched for escaped prisoners. It was probably only a perfunctorysearch, since no prisoner had escaped in the history of Omega. Still, hewould have to figure out a way of avoiding it. 

But he would face that when the time came. Now he felt the vibrationcease, and he knew that the ship had left the surface of Omega. He wasaboard, unobserved, and the ship was on its way to Earth. So far, everything had gone according to plan. 

 * * * * *

For the next few hours, Barrent stayed in the storage room. He wasfeeling very tired, and his joints had begun to ache. The air in thesmall room had a sour, exhausted smell. Forcing himself to his feet, Barrent walked to the air vent and put his hand over it. No air wascoming through. He took a small gauge out of his pocket. The oxygencontent of the room was falling rapidly. 

Cautiously he opened the storeroom door and peered out. Although he wasdressed in a perfect replica of guard's uniform, he knew he couldn'tpass among men who knew each other so well. He had to stay in hiding. And he had to have air. 

The corridors were deserted. He passed the guard assembly room and heardfaint murmurs of conversation inside. The green light glowed brightlyover the door. Barrent walked on, beginning to feel the first signs ofdizziness. His gauge showed him that the oxygen content in the corridorwas starting to fall. 

The Group had assumed that the air system would be used throughout theship. Now Barrent could see that, with only guards and crew aboard, there was no need to supply air for the entire ship. There would be airin the little man-inhabited islands of the guardroom and the crew'ssection, and nowhere else. 

Barrent hurried down the dim, silent corridors, gasping for breath. Theair was rapidly growing bad. Perhaps it was being used in the assemblyroom before the ship's main air supply was touched. 

He passed unlocked doors, but the green bulbs above them were unlighted. He had a pounding headache, and his legs felt as if they were turning tojelly. He tried to figure out a course of action. 

The crew's section seemed to offer him the best chance. Ship's personnelmight not be armed. Even if they were, they would be less ready fortrouble than the guards. Perhaps he could hold one of the officers atgunpoint; perhaps he could take over the ship. 

It was worth trying. It had to be tried. 

At the end of the corridor he came to a staircase. He climbed past adozen deserted levels, and came at last to a stenciled sign on one ofthe walls. It read CONTROL SECTION, and an arrow pointed the way. Barrent took the plastic needlebeam out of his pocket and staggereddown the corridor. He was beginning to lose consciousness. Black shadowsformed and dissipated on the edges of his vision. He was experiencingvague hallucinations, flashes of horror in which he felt the corridorwalls falling in on him. He found that he was on his hands and knees, crawling toward a door marked CONTROL ROOM--_No Admittance except toShip's Officers. _

 * * * * *

The corridor seemed to be filled with gray fog. It cleared momentarily, and Barrent realized that his eyes were not focusing properly. He pulledhimself to his feet and turned the door handle. It began to open. Hetook a firm grip on the needlebeam and tried to prepare himself foraction. 

But, as the door opened, darkness closed irrevocably around him. Hethought he could see startled faces, hear a voice shouting, "Watch out!He's armed!" And then the blackness closed in completely, and he fellendlessly forward. 

Chapter Twenty-Two

Barrent's return to consciousness was sudden and complete. He sat up andsaw that he had fallen inside the control room. The metal door wasclosed behind him, and he was breathing without difficulty. He could seeno sign of the crew. They must have gone after the guards, assuming hewould stay unconscious. 

He scrambled to his feet, instinctively picking up his needlebeam. Heexamined the weapon closely, then frowned and put it away. Why, hewondered, would the crew leave him alone in the control room, the mostimportant part of the ship? Why would they leave him armed?

He tried to remember the faces he had seen just before he collapsed. They were indistinct memories, vague and unfocused figures with hollow, dreamlike voices. Had there really been people in here?

The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he hadconjured those people out of his fading consciousness. There had been noone here. He was alone in the ship's nerve center. 

He approached the main control board. It was divided into ten stations. Each section had its rows of dials, whose slender indicators pointed toincomprehensible readings. Each had its switches, wheels rheostats, andlevers. 

Barrent walked slowly past the stations, watching the patterns offlashing lights that ran to the ceiling and rippled along the walls. Thelast station seemed to be some kind of overall control for the rest. Asmall screen was marked: _Coordination_, _Manual/Automatic_. The_Automatic_ part was lighted. There were similar screens for navigation, lookout, collision control, subspace entry and exit, normal space entryand exit, and landing. All were automatic. Further on he found theprogramming screen, which clicked off the progress of the flight inhours, minutes, and seconds. Time to Checkpoint One was now 29 hours, 4minutes, 51 seconds. Stop-over time, three hours. Time from Checkpointto Earth, 480 hours. 

The control board flashed and hummed to itself, serene andself-sufficient. Barrent couldn't help feeling that the presence of ahuman in this temple of the machine was sacrilege. 

He checked the air ducts. They were set for automatic feed, giving justenough air to support the room's present human population of one. 

But where was the crew? Barrent could understand the necessity ofoperating a starship largely on an automatic programming system. Astructure as huge and complex as this had to be self-sufficient. But menhad built it, and men had punched out the programs. Why weren't menpresent to monitor the switchboards, to modify the program whennecessary? Suppose the guards had needed more time on Omega? Suppose itbecame necessary to by-pass the checkpoint and return directly to Earth?Suppose it was imperative to change destination altogether? Who resetthe programs, who gave the ship its orders, who possessed the guidingintelligence that directed the entire operation?

Barrent looked around the control room. He found a storage bin filledwith oxygen respirators. He put one on, tested it, and went into thecorridor. 

After a long walk, he reached a door marked CREW'S QUARTERS. Inside, theroom was neat and bare. The beds stood in neat rows, without sheets orblankets. There were no clothes in the closets, no personal possessionsof any kind. Barrent left and inspected the officers' and captain'squarters. He found no sign of recent human habitation. 

He returned to the control room. It was apparent now that the ship hadno crew. Perhaps the authorities on Earth felt so certain of theirschedules and of the reliability of their ship that they had decided acrew was superfluous. Perhaps.... 

But it seemed to Barrent a reckless way of doing things. There wassomething very strange about an Earth that allowed starships to runwithout human supervision. 

He decided to suspend further judgment until he had acquired more facts. For the time being, he had to think about the problems of his ownsurvival. There was concentrated food in his pockets, but he hadn't beenable to carry much water. Would the crewless ship have supplies? He hadto remember the detachment of guards, down below in their assemblyroom. And he had to think about what was going to happen at thecheckpoint, and what he would do about it. 

Barrent found that he did not have to use his own food supplies. In theofficers' mess, machines still dispensed food and drink at the push of abutton. Barrent didn't know if these were natural or chemicallyreconstituted foods. They tasted fine and seemed to nourish him, so hereally didn't care. 

He explored part of the ship's upper levels. After becoming lost severaltimes, he decided not to take any more unnecessary risks. Thelife-center of the ship was its control room, and Barrent spent most ofhis time there. 

He found a viewport. Activating the switch that opened the shutters, Barrent was able to look out on the vast spectacle of stars glowing inthe blackness of space. Stars without end stretched past the furthestlimits of his imagination. Looking at this, Barrent felt a strong surgeof pride. This was where he belonged, and those unknown stars were hisheritage. 

The time to the checkpoint dwindled to six hours. Barrent watched newportions of the control board come to life, checking and altering theforces governing the ship, preparing for a landing. Three and a halfhours before landing, Barrent made an interesting discovery. He foundthe central communication system for the entire ship. By turning on thereceiving end, he could overhear conversations in the guardroom. 

He didn't learn much that was useful to him. Either through caution orlack of concern, the guards didn't discuss politics. Their lives werespent on the checkpoint, except for periods of service on the prisonship. Some of the things they said Barrent found incomprehensible. Buthe continued to listen, fascinated by anything these men of Earth had tosay. 

"You ever go swimming in Florida?"

"I never liked salt water. "

"The year before I was called to the Guards, I won third prize at theDayton Orchid Fair. "

"I'm buying a retirement villa in Antarctica. "

"How much longer for you?"

"Eighteen years. "

"Well, someone's got to do it. "

"But why me? And why no Earth leaves?"

"You've watched the tapes, you know why. Crime is a disease. It'sinfectious. "

"So what?"

"So if you work around criminals, you run the danger of infection. Youmight contaminate someone on Earth. "

"It isn't fair.... "

"Can't be helped. Those scientists know what they're talking about. Besides, checkpoint's not so bad. "

"If you like everything artificial ... Air, flowers, food.... "

"Well, you can't have everything. Your family there?"

"They want to get back Earthside. "

"After five years on the checkpoint, they say you can't take Earth. Thegravity gets you. "

"I'll take gravity. Any time.... "

From these conversations, Barrent learned that the grim-faced guardswere human beings, just like the prisoners on Omega. Most of the guardsdidn't seem to like the work they were doing. Like Omegans, they longedfor a return to Earth. 

He stored the information away. The ship had reached the checkpoint, andthe giant switchboard flashed and rippled, making its final adjustmentsfor the intricacies of docking. 

At last the maneuver was completed and the engines shut down tostand-by. Through the communications system, Barrent heard the guardsleave their assembly room. He followed them down the corridors to thelanding stage. He heard the last of them, as he left the ship, say, "Here comes the check squad. Whatcha say, boys?"

There was no answer. The guards were gone, and there was a new sound inthe corridors: the heavy marching feet of what the guard called thecheck squad. 

There seemed to be a lot of them. Their inspection began in the enginerooms, and moved methodically upward. From the sounds, they seemed to beopening every door on the ship and searching every room and closet. 

Barrent held the needlebeam in his perspiring hand and wondered where, in all the territory of the ship, he could hide. He would have to assumethat they were going to look everywhere. In that case, his best chancelay in evading them and hiding in a section of the ship alreadysearched. 

He slipped a respirator over his head and moved into the corridor. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Half an hour later, Barrent still hadn't figured out a way of gettingpast the check squad. They had finished inspecting the lower levels andwere moving up to the control room deck. Barrent could hear themmarching down the hallways. He kept on walking, a hundred yards infront, trying to find some way of hiding. 

There should be a staircase at the end of this passageway. He could takeit down to a different level, a part of the ship which had already beensearched. He hurried on, wondering if he were wrong about the locationof the staircase. He still had only the haziest idea of the layout ofthe ship. If he were wrong, he would be trapped. 

He came to the end of the corridor, and the staircase was there. Thefootsteps behind him sounded closer. He started down, peering backwardsover his shoulder. 

And ran headfirst into a man's huge chest. 

Barrent flung himself back, bringing his plastic gun to bear on theenormous figure. But he stopped himself from firing. The thing thatstood in front of him was not human. 

It stood nearly seven feet high, dressed in a black uniform withINSPECTION TEAM--ANDROID B212 stenciled on its front. Its face was astylization of a human's, cleverly sculptured out of putty-coloredplastic. Its eyes glowed a deep, impossible red. It swayed on two legs, balancing carefully, looking at Barrent, moving slowly toward him. Barrent backed away, wondering if a needlebeam could stop it. 

He never had a chance to find out, for the android walked past him andcontinued up the stairs. Stenciled on the back of its uniform were thewords RODENT CONTROL DIVISION. This particular android, Barrentrealized, was programmed only to look for rats and mice. The presence ofa stowaway had made no impression on it. Presumably the other androidswere similarly specialized. 

He stayed in an empty storage room on a lower level until he heard thesounds of the androids leaving. Then he hurried back to the controlroom. No guards came aboard. Exactly on schedule, the big ship left thecheckpoint. Destination: Earth. 

 * * * * *

The rest of the journey was uneventful. Barrent slept and ate and, before the craft entered subspace, watched the endless spectacle of thestars through the viewport. He tried to visualize the planet he wascoming to, but no pictures formed in his mind. What sort of a peoplebuilt huge starships but failed to equip them with a crew? Why did theysend out inspection teams, then give those teams the narrowest and mostspecialized sort of vision? Why did they have to deport a sizableportion of their population--and then fail to control the conditionsunder which the deportees lived and died? Why was it necessary for themto wipe the prisoners' minds clean of all memory of Earth?

Barrent couldn't think of any answers. 

The control room clocks moved steadily on, counting off the minutes andhours of the trip. The ship entered, then emerged from subspace and wentinto deceleration orbit around a blue and green world which Barrentobserved with mixed emotions. He found it hard to realize that he wasreturning at last to Earth. 

Chapter Twenty-Four

The starship landed at noon on a brilliant sunlit day, somewhere onEarth's North American continent. Barrent had planned on waiting fordarkness before leaving; but the control room screens flashed an ancientand ironic warning: _All passengers and crew must disembark at once. Ship rigged for full decontamination procedure. Twenty minutes. _

He didn't know what was meant by full decontamination procedure. Butsince the crew was emphatically ordered to leave, a respirator might notprovide much safety. Of the two dangers, leaving the ship seemed thelesser. 

The members of Group Two had given a good deal of thought to theclothing Barrent would wear upon debarkation. Those first minutes onEarth might be crucial. No cunning could help him if his clothing wasobviously strange, outlandish, alien. Typical Earth clothing was theanswer; but the Group wasn't sure what the citizens of Earth wore. Onepart of the Group had wanted Barrent to dress in their reconstructedapproximation of civilian dress. Another part felt that the guard'suniform he had worn on board would see him through his arrival on Earthas well. Barrent himself had agreed with a third opinion, which feltthat a mechanic's one-piece coverall would be least noticeable around aspacefield, and suffer the least change of style over the years. In thetowns and cities, this disguise might put him at a disadvantage; but hehad to meet one problem at a time. 

He quickly stripped off his guard's uniform. Underneath he wore thelightweight coveralls. His needlebeam concealed, a collapsible lunchboxin his hand, Barrent walked down the corridor to the landing stage. Hehesitated for a moment, wondering if he should leave the weapon on theship. He decided not to part with it. An inspection would reveal himanyhow; with the needlebeam he would have a chance of breaking away frompolice. 

He took a deep breath and marched out of the ship and down the landingstage. 

There were no guards, no inspection party, no police, no army units andno customs officials. There was no one at all. Far to one side of thewide field he could see rows of starcraft glistening in the sun. Straight ahead of him was a fence, and in it was an open gate. 

Barrent walked across the field, quickly but without obvious haste. Hehad no idea why it was all so simple. Perhaps the secret police on Earthhad more subtle means of checking on passengers from starships. 

He reached the gate. There was no one there except a bald, middle-agedman and a boy of perhaps ten. They seemed to be waiting for him. Barrentfound it hard to believe that these were government officials; still, who knew the ways of Earth? He passed through the gate. 

The bald man, holding the boy by the hand, walked over to him. "I begyour pardon, " the man said. 

"Yes?"

"I saw you come from the starship. Would you mind if I ask you a fewquestions?"

"Not at all, " Barrent said, his hand near the coverall zipper beneathwhich lay his needlebeam. He was certain now that the bald man was apolice agent. The only thing that didn't make sense was the presence ofthe child, unless the boy was an agent-in-training. 

"The fact of the matter is, " the man said, "my boy Ronny here is doing athesis for his Tenth Grade Master's Degree. On starships. "

"So I wanted to see one, " Ronny said. He was an undersized child with apinched, intelligent face. 

"He wanted to see one, " the man explained. "I told him it wasn'tnecessary, since all the facts and pictures are in the encyclopedia. Buthe wanted to see one. "

"It gives me a good opening paragraph, " Ronny said. 

"Of course, " Barrent said, nodding vigorously. He was beginning towonder about the man. For a member of the secret police, he wascertainly taking a devious route. 

"You work on the ships?" Ronny asked. 

"That's right. "

"How fast do they go?"

"In real or subspace?" Barrent asked. 

This question seemed to throw Ronny off his stride. He pushed out hislower lip and said, "Gee, I didn't know they went in subspace. " Hethought for a moment. "As a matter of fact, I don't think I know whatsubspace is. "

Barrent and the boy's father smiled understandingly. 

"Well, " Ronny said, "how fast do they go in real space?"

"A hundred thousand miles an hour, " Barrent said, naming the firstfigure that came into his head. 

The boy nodded, and his father nodded. "Very fast, " the father said. 

"And much faster in subspace of course, " Barrent said. 

"Of course, " the man said. "Starships are very fast indeed. They have tobe. Quite long distances involved. Isn't that right, sir?"

"Very long distances, " Barrent said. 

"How is the ship powered?" Ronny asked. 

"In the usual way, " Barrent told him. "We had triplex boosters installedlast year, but that comes more under the classification of auxiliarypower. "

"I've heard about those triplex boosters, " the man said. "Tremendousthings. "

"They're adequate, " Barrent said judiciously. He was certain now thatthis man was just what he purported to be: a citizen with no particularknowledge of spacecraft simply bringing his son to the starport. 

"How do you get enough air?" Ronny asked. 

"We generate our own, " Barrent said. "But air isn't any trouble. Water'sthe big problem. Water isn't compressible, you know. It's hard to storein sufficient quantities. And then there's the navigation problem whenthe ship emerges from subspace. "

"What _is_ subspace?" Ronny asked. 

"In effect, " Barrent said, "it's simply a different level of real space. But you can find all that in your encyclopedia. "

"Of course you can, Ronny, " the boy's father said. "We mustn't keep thepilot standing here. I'm sure he has many important things to do. "

"I _am_ rather rushed, " Barrent said. "Look around all you want. Goodluck on your thesis, Ronny. "

Barrent walked for fifty yards, his spine tingling, expectingmomentarily to feel the blow of a needlebeam or a shotgun. But when helooked back, the father and son were turned away from him, earnestlystudying the great vessel. Barrent hesitated a moment, deeply bothered. So far, the whole thing had been entirely too easy. Suspiciously easy. But there was nothing he could do but go on. 

The road from the starport led past a row of storage sheds to a sectionof woods. Barrent walked until he was out of sight. Then he left theroad and went into the woods. He had had enough contact with people forhis first day on Earth. He didn't want to stretch his luck. He wanted tothink things over, sleep in the woods for the night, and then in themorning go to a city or town. 

He pushed his way past dense underbrush into the forest proper. Here hewalked through shaded groves of giant oaks. All around him was the chirpand bustle of unseen bird and animal life. Far in front of him was alarge white sign nailed to a tree. Barrent reached it, and read:FORESTDALE NATIONAL PARK. PICNICKERS AND CAMPERS WELCOME. 

Barrent was a little disappointed, even though he realized that therewould be no virgin wilderness so near a starport. In fact, on a planetas old and as highly developed as Earth, there was probably no virginland at all, except what had been preserved in national forests. 

The sun was low on the horizon, and there was a chill in the longshadows thrown across the forest floor. Barrent found a comfortable spotunder a gigantic oak, arranged leaves for a bed, and lay down. He had agreat deal to think about. Why, for example, hadn't guards been postedat Earth's most important contact point, an interstellar terminus? Didsecurity measures start later at the towns and cities? Or was he alreadyunder some sort of surveillance, some infinitely subtle spy system thatfollowed his every movement and apprehended him only when ready? Or wasthat too fanciful? Could it be that--?

"Good evening, " a voice said, close to his right ear. 

Barrent flung himself away from the voice in a spasm of nervousreaction, his hand diving for his needlebeam. 

"And a very pleasant evening it is, " the voice continued, "here inForestdale National Park. The temperature is seventy-eight point twodegrees Fahrenheit, humidity 23 per cent, barometer steady attwenty-nine point nine. Old campers, I'm sure, already recognize myvoice. For the new nature-lovers among you, let me introduce myself. Iam Oaky, your friendly oak tree. I'd like to welcome all of you, oldand new, to your friendly national forest. "

Sitting upright in the gathering darkness, Barrent peered around, wondering what kind of a trick this was. The voice really did seem tocome from the giant oak tree. 

"The enjoyment of nature, " said Oaky, "is now easy and convenient foreveryone. You can enjoy complete seclusion and still be no more than aten-minute walk from public transportation. For those who do not desireseclusion, we have guided tours at nominal cost through these ancientglades. Remember to tell your friends about your friendly national park. The full facilities of this park are waiting for all lovers of the greatoutdoors. "

A panel in the tree opened. Out slid a bedroll, a Thermos bottle, and abox supper. 

"I wish you a pleasant evening, " said Oaky, "amid the wild splendor ofnature's wonderland. And now the National Symphony Orchestra under thedirection of Otter Krug brings you 'The Upland Glades, ' by ErnestoNestrichala, recorded by the National North American BroadcastingCompany. This is your friendly oak tree signing off. "

Music emanated from several hidden speakers. Barrent scratched his head;then, deciding to take matters as they came, he ate the food, drankcoffee from the Thermos, unrolled the bedroll, and lay down. 

Sleepily he contemplated the notion of a forest wired for sound, equipped with food and drink, and none of it more than ten minutes frompublic transportation. Earth certainly did a lot for her citizens. Presumably they liked this sort of thing. Or did they? Could this besome huge and subtle trap which the authorities had set for him?

He tossed and turned for a while, trying to get used to the music. Aftera while it blended into the background of windblown leaves and creakingbranches. Barrent went to sleep. 

Chapter Twenty-Five

In the morning, the friendly oak tree dispensed breakfast and shavingequipment. Barrent ate, washed and shaved, and set out for the nearesttown. He had his objectives firmly in mind. He had to establish somesort of foolproof disguise, and he had to make contact with Earth'sunderground. When this was accomplished, he had to find out as much ashe could about Earth's secret police, military dispositions, and thelike. 

Group Two had worked out a procedure for accomplishing these objectives. As Barrent came to the outskirts of a town, he hoped that the Group'smethods would work. So far, the Earth he was on had very littleresemblance to the Earth which the Group had reconstructed. 

He walked down interminable streets lined with small white cottages. Atfirst, he thought every house looked the same. Then he realized thateach had one or two small architectural differences. But instead ofdistinguishing the houses, these niggling differences simply served topoint up the monotonous similarities. There were hundreds of thesecottages, stretching as far as he could see, each of them set upon alittle plot of carefully tended grass. Their genteel sameness depressedhim. Unexpectedly he missed the ridiculous, clumsy, make-shiftindividuality of Omegan buildings. 

He reached a shopping center. The stores repeated the pattern set by thehouses. They were low, discreet, and very similar. Only a closeinspection of window displays revealed differences between a food storeand a sports shop. He passed a small building with a sign that read, ROBOT CONFESSIONAL--_Open 24 hours a day. _ It seemed to be some sort ofchurch. 

The procedure set by Group Two for locating the underground on Earth wassimple and straightforward. Revolutionaries, he had been told, are foundin greatest quantity among a civilization's most depressed elements. Poverty breeds dissatisfaction; the have-nots want to take from thosewho have. Therefore, the logical place to look for subversion is in theslums. 

It was a good theory. The trouble was, Barrent couldn't find any slums. He walked for hours, past neat stores and pleasant little homes, playgrounds and parks, scrupulously tended farms, and then past morehouses and stores. Nothing looked much better or worse than anythingelse. 

By evening, he was tired and footsore. As far as he could tell, he haddiscovered nothing of significance. Before he could penetrate any deeperinto the complexities of Earth, he would have to question the localcitizens. It was a dangerous step, but one which he could not avoid. 

He stood near a clothing store in the gathering dusk and decided upon acourse of action. He would pose as a foreigner, a man newly arrived inNorth America from Asia or Europe. In that way, he should be able to askquestions with a measure of safety. 

A man was walking toward him, a plump, ordinary-looking fellow in abrown business tunic. Barrent stopped him. "I beg your pardon, " he said. "I'm a stranger here, just arrived from Rome. "

"Really?" the man said. 

"Yes. I'm afraid I don't understand things over here very well, " Barrentsaid, with an apologetic little laugh. "I can't seem to find any cheaphotels. If you could direct me--"

"Citizen, do you feel all right?" the man asked, his face hardening. 

"As I said, I'm a foreigner, and I'm looking--"

"Now look, " the man said, "you know as well as I do that there aren'tany outlanders any more. "

"There aren't?"

"Of course not. I've _been_ in Rome. It's just like here in Wilmington. Same sort of houses and stores. No one's an outlander any more. "

Barrent couldn't think of anything to say. He smiled nervously. 

"Furthermore, " the man said, "there are no cheap lodgings anywhere onEarth. Why should there be? Who would stay in them?"

"Who indeed?" Barrent said. "I guess I've had a little too much todrink. "

"No one drinks any more, " the man said. "I don't understand. What sortof a game is this?"

"What sort of a game do you _think_ it is?" Barrent asked, falling backon a technique which the Group had recommended. 

The man stared at him, frowning. "I think I get it, " he said. "You mustbe an Opinioner. "

"Mmm, " Barrent said, noncommittally. 

"Sure, that's it, " the man said. "You're one of those citizens goesaround asking people's opinions. For surveys and that sort of thing. Right?"

"You've made a very intelligent guess, " Barrent said. 

"Well, I don't suppose it was too hard. Opinioners are always walkingaround trying to get people's attitudes on things. I would have spottedyou right away if you'd been wearing Opinioners' clothing. " The manstarted to frown again. "How come you aren't dressed like an Opinioner?"

"I just graduated, " Barrent said. "Haven't had a chance to get theclothes. "

"Oh. Well, you should get the proper wear, " the man said sententiously. "How can a citizen tell your status?"

"Just a test sampling, " Barrent said. "Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Perhaps I'll have a chance to interview you again in the nearfuture. "

"Any time, " the man said. He nodded politely and walked off. 

Barrent thought about it, and decided that the occupation of Opinionerwas perfect for him. It would give him the all-important right to askquestions, to meet people, to find out how Earth lived. He would have tobe careful, of course, not to reveal his ignorance. But working withcircumspection, he should have a general knowledge of this civilizationin a few days. 

First, he would have to buy Opinioners' clothing. That seemed to beimportant. The trouble was, he had no money with which to pay for it. The Group had been unable to duplicate Earth money; they couldn't evenremember what it looked like. 

But they had provided him with a means of overcoming even that obstacle. Barrent turned and went into the nearest costumer's. 

The proprietor was a short man with china-blue eyes and a salesman'sready smile. He welcomed Barrent and asked how he could be of service. 

"I need Opinioners' clothing, " Barrent told him. "I've just graduated. "

"Of course, sir, " the owner said. "And you've come to the right placefor it. Most of the smaller stores don't carry the clothing for anythingbut the more ... Ah ... Common professions. But here at JulesWonderson's, we have ready-wears for all of the five hundred and twentymajor professions listed in the Civil Status Almanac. I am JulesWonderson. "

"A pleasure, " Barrent said. "Have you a ready-wear in my size?"

"I'm sure I have, " Wonderson said. "Would you care for a Regular or aSpecial?"

"A Regular will do nicely. "

"Most new Opinioners prefer the Special, " Wonderson said. "The littleextra simulated handmade touches increase the public's respect. "

"In that case I'll take the Special. "

"Yes, sir. Though if you could wait a day or two, we will be having in anew fabric--a simulated Home Loom, complete with natural weavingmistakes. For the man of status discrimination. A real prestige item. "

"Perhaps I'll come back for that, " Barrent said. "Right now, I need aready-wear. "

"Of course, sir, " Wonderson said, disappointed but hiding it bravely. "If you'll wait just one little minute.... "

After several fittings, Barrent found himself wearing a black businesssuit with a thin edge of white piping around the lapels. To hisinexperienced eye it looked almost exactly like the other suitsWonderson had on display for bankers, stock brokers, grocers, accountants, and the like. But for Wonderson, who talked about thebanker's lapel and the insurance agent's drape, the differences were asclear as the gross status-symbols of Omega. Barrent decided it was justa question of training. 

"There, sir!" Wonderson said. "A perfect fit, and a fabric guaranteedfor a lifetime. All for thirty-nine ninety-five. "

"Excellent, " Barrent said. "Now, about the money--"

"Yes, sir?"

Barrent took the plunge. "I haven't any. "

"You haven't, sir? That's quite unusual. "

"Yes, it is, " Barrent said. "However, I _do_ have certain articles ofvalue. " From his pocket he took three diamond rings with which the Groupon Omega had supplied him. "These stones are genuine diamonds, as anyjeweler will be glad to attest. If you would take one of them until Ihave the money for payment--"

"But, sir, " Wonderson said, "diamonds and such have no intrinsic value. They haven't since '23, when Von Blon wrote the definitive workdestroying the concept of scarcity value. "

"Of course, " Barrent said, at a loss for words. 

Wonderson looked at the rings. "I suppose these have a sentimentalvalue, though. "

"Certainly. We've had them in the family for generations. "

"In that case, " Wonderson said, "I wouldn't want to deprive you of them. Please, no arguments, sir! Sentiment is the most priceless of emotions. I couldn't sleep nights if I took even one of these family heirloomsfrom you. "

"But there's the matter of payment. "

"Pay me at your leisure. "

"You mean you'll trust me, even though you don't know me?"

"Most certainly, " Wonderson said. He smiled archly. "Trying out yourOpinioner's methods, aren't you? Well, even a child knows that ourcivilization is based upon trust, not collateral. It is axiomatic thateven a stranger is to be trusted until he has conclusively andunmistakably proven otherwise. "

"Haven't you ever been cheated?"

"Of course not. Crime is nonexistent these days. "

"In that case, " Barrent asked, "what about Omega?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Omega, the prison planet. You must have heard of it. "

"I think I have, " Wonderson said cautiously. "Well, I should have saidthat crime is _almost_ nonexistent. I suppose there will always be afew congenital criminal types, easily recognizable as such. But I'mtold they don't amount to more than ten or twelve individuals a year outof a population of nearly two billion. " He smiled broadly. "My chancesof meeting one are exceedingly rare. "

Barrent thought about the prison ships constantly shuttling back andforth between Earth and Omega, dumping their human cargo and returningfor more. He wondered where Wonderson got his statistics. For thatmatter, he wondered where the police were. He had seen no militaryuniform since leaving the starship. He would have liked to ask about it, but it seemed wiser to discontinue that line of questioning. 

"Thank you very much for the credit, " Barrent said. "I'll be back withthe payment as soon as possible. "

"Of course you will, " Wonderson said, warmly shaking Barrent's hand. "Take your time, sir. No rush at all. "

Barrent thanked him again and left the store. 

He had a profession now. And if other people believed as Wonderson did, he had unlimited credit. He was on a planet that seemed, at firstglance, to be a utopia. The utopia presented certain contradictions, ofcourse. He hoped to find out more about them over the next few days. 

Down the block, Barrent found a hotel called The Bide-A-Bit. He engageda room for the week, on credit. 

Chapter Twenty-Six

In the morning, Barrent asked directions to the nearest branch of thepublic library. He decided that he needed as much background out ofbooks as he could get. With a knowledge of the history and developmentof Earth's civilization, he would have a better idea of what to expectand what to watch out for. 

His Opinioner's clothing allowed him access to the closed shelves wherethe history books were kept. But the books themselves weredisappointing. Most of them were Earth's ancient history, from earliestbeginnings to the dawn of atomic power. Barrent skimmed through them. Ashe read, some memories of prior reading returned to him. He was able tojump quickly from Periclean Greece to Imperial Rome, to Charlemagne andthe Dark Ages, from the Norman Conquest to the Thirty Years' War, andthen to a rapid survey of the Napoleonic Era. He read with more careabout the World Wars. The book ended with the explosion of the firstatom bombs. The other books on the shelf were simply amplifications ofvarious stages of history he had found in the first book. 

After a great deal of searching, Barrent found a small work entitled, "The Postwar Dilemma, Volume 1, " by Arthur Whittler. It began where theother histories had left off; with the atomic bombs exploding overHiroshima and Nagasaki. Barrent sat down and began to read carefully. 

He learned about the Cold War of the 1950's, when several nations werein possession of atomic and hydrogen weapons. Already, the authorstated, the seeds of a massive and stultifying conformity were presentin the nations of the world. In America, there was the frenziedresistance to communism. In Russia and China, there was the frenziedresistance to capitalism. One by one, all the nations of the world weredrawn into one camp or the other. For purposes of internal security, allcountries relied upon the newest propaganda and indoctrinationtechniques. All countries felt they needed, for survival's sake, a rigidadherence to state-approved doctrines. 

The pressure upon the individual to conform became both stronger andsubtler. 

The dangers of war passed. The many societies of Earth began to mergeinto a single superstate. But the pressure to conform, instead oflessening, grew more intense. The need was dictated by the continuedexplosive increase in population, and the many problems of unificationacross national and ethnic lines. Differences in opinion could bedeadly; too many groups now had access to the supremely deadly hydrogenbombs. 

Under the circumstances, deviant behavior could not be tolerated. 

Unification was finally completed. The conquest of space went on, frommoon ship to planet ship to star ship. But Earth became increasinglyrigid in its institutions. A civilization more inflexible than anythingproduced by medieval Europe punished any opposition to existing customs, habits, beliefs. These breaches of the social contract were consideredmajor crimes as serious as murder or arson. They were punishedsimilarly. The antique institutions of secret police, political police, informers, all were used. Every possible device was brought to beartoward the all-important goal of conformity. 

For the nonconformists, there was Omega. 

Capital punishment had been banished long before, but there was neitherroom nor resources to take the growing number of criminals who crammedprisons everywhere. The world leaders finally decided to transport thesecriminals to a separate prison world, copying a system which the Frenchhad used in Guiana and New Caledonia, and the British had used inAustralia and early North America. Since it was impossible to rule Omegafrom Earth, the authorities didn't try. They simply made sure that noneof the prisoners escaped. 

That was the end of volume one. A note at the end said that volume twowas to be a study of contemporary Earth. It was entitled _The StatusCivilization_. 

The second volume was not on the shelves. Barrent asked the librarian, and was told that it had been destroyed in the interests of publicsafety. 

Barrent left the library and went to a little park. He sat and stared atthe ground and tried to think. 

He had expected to find an Earth similar to the one described inWhittler's book. He had been prepared for a police state, tight securitycontrols, a repressed populace, and a growing air of unrest. But that, apparently, was the past. So far, he hadn't even seen a policeman. Hehad observed no security controls, and the people he had met did notseem harshly repressed. Quite the contrary. This seemed like acompletely different world.... 

Except that year after year, the ships came to Omega with their cargoesof brainwashed prisoners. Who arrested them? Who judged them? What sortof a society produced them?

He would have to find out the answers himself. 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Early the next morning, Barrent began his exploration. His technique wassimple. He rang doorbells and asked questions. He warned all hissubjects that his real questions might be interspersed with tricks ornonsense questions, whose purpose was to test the general awarenesslevel. In that way, Barrent found he could ask anything at all aboutEarth, could explore controversial or even nonexistent areas, and do sowithout revealing his own ignorance. 

There was still the danger that some official would ask for hiscredentials, or that the police would mysteriously spring up when leastexpected. But he had to take those risks. Starting at the beginning ofOrange Esplanade, Barrent worked his way northward, calling at eachhouse as he went. His results were uneven, as a selective sampling ofhis work shows:

 * * * * *

(_Citizen A. L. Gotthreid, age 55, occupation home-tender. A strong, erect woman, imperious but polite, with a no-nonsense air about her. _)

"You want to ask me about class and status? Is that it?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"You Opinioners are _always_ asking about class and status. One wouldthink you'd know all about it by now. But very well. Today, sinceeveryone is equal, there is only one class. The _middle_ class. The onlyquestion then is--to what portion of the middle class does one belong?High, low, or middle?"

"And how is that determined?"

"Why, by all sorts of things. The way a person speaks, eats, dresses, the way he acts in public. His manners. His clothing. You can alwaystell your upper middle class man by his clothes. It's quiteunmistakable. "

"I see. And the lower middle classes?"

"Well, for one thing they lack creative energy. They wear ready-madeclothing, for example, without taking the trouble to improve upon it. The same goes for their homes. Mere uninspired adornment won't do, letme add. That's simply the mark of the _nouveau_ upper middle class. Onedoesn't receive such persons in the home. "

"Thank you, Citizen Gotthreid. And where would you classify yourselfstatuswise?"

(With the very faintest hesitation). "Oh, I've never thought much aboutit--upper middle, I suppose. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Dreister, age 43, occupation shoe vendor. A slender, mild man, young-looking for his years. _)

"Yes, sir. Myra and I have three children of school age. All boys. "

"Could you give me some idea what their education consists of?"

"They learn how to read and write, and how to become good citizens. They're already starting to learn their trades. The oldest is going intothe family business--shoes. The other two are taking apprenticeshipcourses in groceries and retail marketing. That's my wife's family'sbusiness. They also learn how to retain status, and how to utilizestandard techniques for moving upward. That's about what goes on in theopen classes. "

"Are there other school classes which are not open?"

"Well, naturally there are the closed classes. Every child attendsthem. "

"And what do they learn in the closed classes?"

"I don't know. They're closed, as I said. "

"Don't the children ever speak about those classes?"

"No. They talk about everything under the sun, but not about that. "

"Haven't you any idea what goes on in the closed classes?"

"Sorry, I don't. At a guess--and it's only a guess, mind you--I'd sayit's probably something religious. But you'd have to ask a teacher forthat. "

"Thank you, sir. And how do you classify yourself statuswise?"

"Middle middle class. Not much doubt about that. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Maryjane Morgan, age 51, occupation school-teacher. A tall, bony woman. _)

"Yes, sir, I think that just about sums up our curriculum at the LittleBeige Schoolhouse. "

"Except for the closed classes. "

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"The closed classes. You haven't discussed those. "

"I'm afraid I can't. "

"Why not, Citizen Morgan?"

"Is this a trick question? Everyone knows that teachers aren't allowedin the closed classes. "

"Who _is_ allowed in?"

"The children, of course. "

"But who teaches them?"

"The government is in charge of that. "

"Of course. But who, specifically, does the teaching in the closedclasses?"

"I have no idea, sir. It's none of my business. The closed classes arean ancient and respected institution. What goes on in them is quitepossibly of a religious nature. But that's only a guess. Whatever it is, it's none of my business. Nor is it yours, young man, Opinioner or not. "

"Thank you, Citizen Morgan. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Edgar Nief, age 107, occupation retired officer. A tall, stooped man with cane, icy blue eyes undimmed by age. _)

"A little louder, please. What was that question again?"

"About the armed forces. Specifically I asked--"

"I remember now. Yes, young man, I was a colonel in the Twenty-firstNorth American Spaceborne Commando, which was a regular unit of theEarth Defense Corps. "

"And did you retire from the service?"

"No, the service retired from me. "

"I beg pardon, sir?"

"You heard me correctly, young man. It happened just sixty-three yearsago. The Earth Armed Forces were demobilized, except for the policewhom I cannot count. But all regular units were demobilized. "

"Why was that done, sir?"

"There wasn't anyone to fight. Wasn't even anyone to guard against, orso I was told. Damned foolish business, I say. "

"Why, sir?"

"Because an old soldier knows that you can never tell when an enemymight spring up. It could happen now. And then where would we be?"

"Couldn't the armies be formed again?"

"Certainly. But the present generation has no concept of serving underarms. There are no leaders left, outside of a few useless old fools likeme. It would take years for an effective force, effectively led, to beformed. "

"And in the meantime, Earth is completely open to invasion from theoutside?"

"Yes, except for the police units. And I seriously doubt theirreliability under fire. "

"Could you tell me about the police?"

"There is nothing I know about them. I have never bothered my head aboutnon-military matters. "

"But it is conceivable that the police have now taken over the functionsof the army, isn't it? That the police constitute a sizable anddisciplined paramilitary force?"

"It is possible, sir. Anything is possible. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Moertin Honners, age 31, occupation verbalizer. A slim, languid man with an earnest, boyish face and smooth, corn-blond hair. _)

"You are a verbalizer, Citizen Honners?"

"I am, sir. Though perhaps 'author' would be a better word, if you don'tmind. "

"Of course. Citizen Honners, are you presently engaged in writing forany of the periodicals I see on the dissemination stands?"

"Certainly not! These are written by incompetent hacks for the dubiousdelectation of the lower middle class. The stories, in case you didn'tknow, are taken line by line from the works of various popular writersof the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. The people who do the workmerely substitute adjectives and adverbs. Occasionally, I'm told, a moredaring hack will substitute a verb, or even a noun. But that is rare. The editors of such periodicals frown upon sweeping innovations. "

"And you are not engaged in such work?"

"Absolutely not! My work is noncommercial. I am a Creative ConradSpecialist. "

"Would you mind telling me what that means, Citizen Honners?"

"I'd be happy to. My own particular field of endeavor lies inre-creating the works of Joseph Conrad, an author who lived in thepre-atomic era. "

"How do you go about re-creating those works, sir?"

"Well, at present I am engaged in my fifth re-creation of _Lord Jim_. Todo it, I steep myself as thoroughly as possible in the original work. Then I set about rewriting it as Conrad would have written it if he hadlived today. It is a labor which calls for extreme diligence, and forthe utmost in artistic integrity. A single slip could mar there-creation. As you can see, it calls for a preliminary mastery ofConrad's vocabulary, themes, plots, characters, mood, approach, and soon. All this goes in, and yet the book cannot be a slavish _repeat_. Itmust have something new to say, just as Conrad would have said it. "

"And have you succeeded?"

"The critics have been generous, and my publisher gives me everyencouragement. "

"When you have finished your fifth re-creation of _Lord Jim_, what doyou plan to do?"

"First I shall take a long rest. Then I shall re-create one of Conrad'sminor works. _The Planter of Malata_, perhaps. "

"I see. Is re-creation the rule in all the arts?"

"It is the goal of the true aspiring artist, no matter what medium hehas chosen to work in. Art is a cruel mistress, I fear. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Willis Ouerka, age 8, occupation student. A cheerful, black-haired, sun-tanned boy. _)

"I'm sorry, Mr. Opinioner, my parents aren't home right now. "

"That's perfectly all right, Willis. Do you mind if I ask you a questionor two?"

"I don't mind. What's that you got under your jacket, Mister? Itbulges. "

"I'll ask the questions, Willis, if you don't mind.... Now, do you likeschool?"

"It's all right. "

"What courses do you take?"

"Well, there's reading and writing and status appreciation, and coursesin art, music, architecture, literature, ballet, and theater. The usualstuff. "

"I see. That's in the open classes?"

"Sure. "

"Do you also attend a closed class?"

"Sure I do. Every day. "

"Do you mind talking about it?"

"I don't mind. Is that bulge a gun? I know what guns are. Some of thebig boys were passing around pictures at lunchtime a couple days ago andI peeked. Is it a gun?"

"No. My suit doesn't fit very well, that's all. Now then. Would you mindtelling me what you do in the closed class?"

"I don't mind. "

"What happens, then?"

"I don't remember. "

"Come now, Willis. "

"Really, Mr. Opinioner. We all go into this classroom, and we come outtwo hours later for recess. But that's all. I can't remember anythingelse. I've talked with the other kids. They can't remember either. "

"Strange.... "

"No, sir. If we were supposed to remember, it wouldn't be _closed_. "

"Perhaps so. Do you remember what the room looks like, or who yourteacher is for the closed class?"

"No, sir. I really don't remember anything at all about it. "

"Thank you. Willis. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Cuchulain Dent, age 37, occupation inventor. A prematurelybald man with ironic, heavy-lidded eyes. _)

"Yep, that's right. I'm an inventor specializing in games. I broughtout _Triangulate--Or Else!_ last year. It's been pretty popular. Haveyou seen it?"

"I'm afraid not. "

"Sort of a cute game. It's a simulated lost-in-space thing. The playersare given incomplete data for their miniature computers, additionalinformation as they win it. Space hazards for penalties. Lots offlashing lights and stuff like that. Very big seller. "

"Do you invent anything else, Citizen Dent?"

"When I was a kid, I worked up an improved seeder harvester. Designed tobe approximately three times as efficient as the present models. Andwould you believe it, I really thought I had a chance of selling it. "

"Did you sell it?"

"Of course not. At that time I didn't realize that the patent office wasclosed permanently except for the games section. "

"Were you angry about that?"

"A little angry at the time. But I soon realized that the models we haveare plenty good enough. There's no need for more efficient or moreingenious inventions. Folks today are satisfied with what they've got. Besides, new inventions would be of no service to mankind. Earth's birthand death rate are stable, and there's enough for everyone. To produce anew invention, you'd have to retool an entire factory. That would bealmost impossible, since all the factories today are automatic andself-repairing. That's why there's a moratorium on invention, except inthe novelty game field. "

"How do you feel about it?"

"What's there to feel? That's how things are. "

"Would you like to have things different?"

"Maybe. But being an inventor, I'm classified as a potentially unstablecharacter anyhow. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Barn Threnten, age 41, occupation atomics engineerspecializing in spacecraft design. A nervous, intelligent-looking manwith sad brown eyes. _)

"You want to know what I do in my job? I'm sorry you asked that, Citizen, because I don't do a thing except walk around the factory. Union rules require one stand-by human for every robot or robotizedoperation. That's what I do. I just stand by. "

"You sound dissatisfied, Citizen Threnten. "

"I am. I wanted to be an atomics engineer. I trained for it. Then when Igraduated, I found out my knowledge was fifty years out of date. Even ifI learned what was going on now, I'd have no place to use it. "

"Why not?"

"Because everything in atomics is automatized. I don't know if themajority of the population knows that, but it's true. From raw materialto finished product, it's all completely automatic. The only humanparticipation in the program is quantity-control in terms of populationindexes. And even that is minimal. "

"What happens if a part of an automatic factory breaks down?"

"It gets fixed by robot repair units. "

"And if they break down?"

"The damned things are self-repairing. All I can do is stand by andwatch, and fill out a report. Which is a ridiculous position for a manwho considers himself an engineer. "

"Why don't you turn to some other field?"

"No use. I've checked, and the rest of the engineers are in the sameposition I'm in, watching automatic processes which they don'tunderstand. Name your field: food processing, automobile manufacture, construction, biochem. , it's all the same. Either stand-by engineers orno engineers at all. "

"This is true for spaceflight also?"

"Sure. No member of the spacepilot's union has been off Earth for closeto fifty years. They wouldn't know how to operate a ship. "

"I see. All the ships are set for automatic. "

"Exactly. Permanently and irrevocably automatic. "

"What would happen if these ships ran into an unprecedented situation?"

"That's hard to say. The ships can't think, you know; they simply followpre-set programs. If the ships ran into a situation for which they werenot programmed, they'd be paralyzed, at least temporarily. I think theyhave an optimum-choice selector which is supposed to take overunstructured situations; but it's never been tried out. At best, itwould react sluggishly. At worst, it wouldn't work at all. And thatwould be fine by me. "

"Do you really mean that?"

"I certainly do. I'm sick of standing around watching a machine do thesame thing day after day. Most of the professional men I know feel thesame way. We want to do something. Anything. Did you know that a hundredyears ago human-piloted starships were exploring the planets of othersolar systems?"

"Yes. "

"Well, that's what we should be doing now. Moving outward, exploring, advancing. That's what we need. "

"I agree. But don't you think you're saying rather dangerous things?"

"I know I am. But frankly, I just don't care any longer. Let them shipme to Omega if they want to. I'm doing no good here. "

"Then you've heard about Omega?"

"Anyone connected with starships knows about Omega. Round trips betweenOmega and Earth, that's all our ships do. It's a terrible world. Personally, I put the blame on the clergy. "

"The clergy?"

"Absolutely. Those sanctimonious fools with their endless drivel aboutthe Church of the Spirit of Mankind Incarnate. It's enough to make a manwish for a little evil.... "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Father Boeren, age 51, occupation clergyman. A stately, plum-shaped man wearing a saffron robe and white sandals. _)

"That's right, my son, I am the abbot of the local branch of the Churchof the Spirit of Mankind Incarnate. Our church is the official andexclusive religious expression of the government of Earth. Our religionspeaks for all the peoples of Earth. It is a composite of the bestelements of all the former religions, both major and minor, skillfullyblended into a single all-embracing faith. "

"Citizen Abbot, aren't there bound to be contradictions in doctrineamong the various religions which make up your faith?"

"There _were_. But the forgers of our present Church threw out allcontroversial matter. We wanted agreement, not dissension. We preserveonly certain colorful facets of those early great religions; facets withwhich people can identify. There have never been any schisms in ourreligion, because we are all-acceptant. One may believe anything onewishes, as long as it preserves the holy spirit of Mankind Incarnate. For our worship, you see, is the true worship of Man. And the spirit werecognize is the spirit of the divine and holy Good. "

"Would you define Good for me, Citizen Abbot?"

"Certainly. Good is that force within us which inspires men to acts ofconformity and subservience. The worship of Good is essentially theworship of oneself, and therefore the only true worship. The self whichone worships is the ideal social being: the man content in his niche insociety, yet ready to creatively advance his status. Good is gentle, since it is a true reflection of the loving and pitying universe. Goodis continually changing in its aspects, although it comes to us in the ... You have a strange look on your face, young man. "

"I'm sorry, Citizen Abbot. I believe I heard that sermon, or one verymuch like it. "

"It is true wherever one hears it. "

"Of course. One more question, sir. Could you tell me about thereligious instruction of children?"

"That duty is performed for us by the robot-confessors. "

"Yes?"

"The notion came to us from the ancient root-faith of TranscendentalFreudianism. The robot-confessor instructs children and adults alike. Ithears their problems within the social matrix. It is their constantfriend, their social mentor, their religious instructor. Being robotic, the confessors are able to give exact and unvarying answers to anyquestion. This aids the great work of Conformity. "

"I can see that it does. What do the human priests do?"

"They watch over the robot-confessors. "

"Are these robot-confessors present in the closed classrooms?"

"I am not competent to answer that. "

"They are, aren't they?"

"I truly do not know. The closed classrooms are closed to abbots as wellas other adults. "

"By whose order?"

"By order of the Chief of the Secret Police. "

"I see.... Thank you, Citizen Abbot Boeren. "

 * * * * *

(_Citizen Enyen Dravivian, age 43, occupation government employee. Anarrow-faced, slit-eyed man, old and tired beyond his years. _)

"Good afternoon, sir. You say that you are employed by the government?"

"Correct. "

"Is that the state or the federal government?"

"Both. "

"I see. And have you been in this employ for very long?"

"Approximately eighteen years. "

"Yes, sir. Would you mind telling me what, specifically, your job is?"

"Not at all. I am the Chief of the Secret Police. "

"You are--I see, sir. That's very interesting. I--"

"Don't reach for your needlebeam, ex-Citizen Barrent. I can assure you, it won't operate in the blanketed area around this house. And if youdraw it, you'll be hurt. "

"How?"

"I have my own means of protection. "

"How did you know my name?"

"I've known about you almost since you set foot upon Earth. We are notentirely without resources you know. But we can discuss all that inside. Won't you come in?"

"I think I'd rather not. "

"I'm afraid you have to. Come, Barrent, I won't bite you. "

"Am I under arrest?"

"Of course not. We're simply going to have a little talk. That's right, sir, right through there. Just make yourself comfortable. "

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dravivian led him into a large room paneled in walnut. The furniture wasof a heavy, black wood, intricately carved and varnished. The desk, highand straight, seemed to be an antique. A heavy tapestry covered oneentire wall. It depicted, in fading colors, a medieval hunting scene. 

"Do you like it?" Dravivian asked. "My family did the furnishing. Mywife copied the tapestry from an original in the Metropolitan Museum. Mytwo sons collaborated on the furniture. They wanted something ancientand Spanish in feeling, but with more comfort than antiques usuallygive. A slight modification of the lines accomplished that. My owncontributions are not visible. Music of the baroque period is myspecialty. "

"Aside from policework, " Barrent said. 

"Yes, aside from that. " Dravivian turned away from Barrent and lookedthoughtfully at the tapestry. "We will come to the matter of the policein due course. Tell me first, what do you think of this room?"

"It's very beautiful, " Barrent said. 

"Yes. And?"

"Well--I'm no judge. "

"You _must_ judge, " Dravivian said. "In this room you can see Earth'scivilization in miniature. Tell me what you think of it. "

"It feels lifeless, " Barrent said. 

Dravivian turned to Barrent and smiled. "Yes, that's a good word for it. Self-involved might perhaps be better. This is a high-status room, Barrent. A great deal of creativity has gone into the artisticimprovement of ancient archetypes. My family has re-created a bit of theSpanish past, as others have re-created bits of the Mayan, EarlyAmerican, or Oceanic past. And yet, the essential hollowness is obvious. Our automatized factories produce the same goods for us year in and yearout. Since everyone has these same goods, it is necessary for us tochange the factory product, to improve and embroider it, to expressourselves through it, to rank ourselves by it. That's how Earth is, Barrent. Our energy and skills are channeled into essentially decadentpursuits. We re-carve old furniture, worry about rank and status, and inthe meantime the frontier of the distant planets remains unexplored andunconquered. We ceased long ago to expand. Stability brought the dangerof stagnation, to which we succumbed. We became so highly socializedthat individuality had to be diverted to the most harmless of pursuits, turned inward, kept from any meaningful expression. I think you haveseen a fair amount of that in your time on Earth?"

"I have. But I never expected to hear the Chief of the Secret Police sayit. "

"I'm an unusual man, " Dravivian said, with a mocking smile. "And theSecret Police is an unusual institution. "

"It must be very efficient. How did you find out about me?"

"That was really quite simple. Most of the people of Earth aresecurity-conditioned from childhood. It's part of our heritage, youknow. Nearly all the people you met were able to tell that there wassomething very wrong about you. You were as obviously out of place as awolf among sheep. People noticed, and reported directly to me. "

"All right, " Barrent said. "Now what?"

"First I would like you to tell me about Omega. "

Barrent told the Police Chief about his life on the prison planet. Dravivian nodded, a faint smile on his lips. 

"Yes, it's very much as I expected, " he said. "The same sort of thinghas happened on Omega as happened in early America and Australia. Thereare differences, of course; you have been shut off more completely fromthe mother country. But the same fierce energy and drive is there, andthe same ruthlessness. "

"What are you going to do?" Barrent asked. 

Dravivian shrugged his shoulders. "It really doesn't matter. I suppose Icould kill you. But that wouldn't stop your group on Omega from sendingout other spies, or from seizing one of the prison ships. As soon as theOmegans begin to move in force, they'll discover the truth anyhow. "

"What truth?"

"By now it must be obvious to you, " Dravivian said. "Earth hasn't foughta war for nearly eight hundred years. We wouldn't know how. Theorganization of guardships around Omega is pure façade. The ships arecompletely automatized, built to meet conditions of several hundredsyears ago. A determined attack will capture a ship; and when you haveone, the rest will fall. After that, there's nothing to stop the Omegansfrom coming back to Earth; and there's nothing on Earth to fight themwith. This, you must realize, is the reason why all prisoners leavingEarth are divorced from their memories. If they _remembered_, Earth'svulnerability would be painfully apparent. "

"If you knew all this, " Barrent asked, "why didn't your leaders dosomething about it?"

"That was our original intention. But there was no real drive behind theintention. We preferred not to think about it. We assumed the status quowould remain indefinitely. We didn't want to think about the day whenthe Omegans returned to Earth. "

"What are you and your police going to do about it?" Barrent asked. 

"I am façade, too, " Dravivian told him. "I have no police. The positionof Chief is entirely honorary. There has been no need of a police forceon Earth for close to a century. "

"You're going to need one when the Omegans come home, " Barrent said. 

"Yes. There's going to be crime again, and serious trouble. But I thinkthe final amalgamation will be successful. You on Omega have the drive, the ambition to reach the stars. I believe you need a certain stabilityand creativeness which Earth can provide. Whatever the results, theunion is inevitable. We've lived in a dream here for too long. It'sgoing to take violent measures to awaken us. "

Dravivian rose to his feet. "And now, " he said, "since the fate of Earthand Omega seem to be decided, could I offer you some refreshment?"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

With the help of the Chief of Police, Barrent put a message aboard thenext ship to leave for Omega. The message told about conditions on Earthand urged immediate action. When that was finished, Barrent was readyfor his final job--to find the judge who had sentenced him for a crimehe hadn't committed, and the lying informer who had turned him in to thejudge. When he found those two, Barrent knew he would regain the missingportions of his memory. 

He took the night expressway to Youngerstun. His suspicions, sharplykeyed from life on Omega, would not let him rest. There had to be acatch to all this splendid simplicity. Perhaps he would find it inYoungerstun. 

By early morning he was there. Superficially, the neat rows of houseslooked the same as in any other town. But for Barrent they weredifferent, and achingly familiar. He _remembered_ this town, and themonotonous houses had individuality and meaning for him. He had beenborn and raised in this town. 

There was Grothmeir's store, and across the street was the home ofHavening, the local interior decorating champion. Here was BillyHavelock's house. Billy had been his best friend. They had planned onbeing starmen together, and had remained good friends afterschool--until Barrent had been sentenced to Omega. 

Here was Andrew Therkaler's house. And down the block was the school hehad attended. He could remember the classes. He could remember how, every day, they had gone through the door that led to the closed class. But he still could not remember what he had learned there. 

Right here, near two huge elms, the murder had taken place. Barrentwalked to the spot and remembered how it had happened. He had been onhis way home. From somewhere down the street he had heard a scream. Hehad turned, and a man--Illiardi--had run down the street and thrownsomething at him. Barrent had caught it instinctively and found himselfholding an illegal handgun. A few steps further, he had looked into thetwisted dead face of Andrew Therkaler. 

And what had happened next? Confusion. Panic. A sensation of someonewatching as he stood, weapon in hand, over the corpse. There, at the endof the street, was the refuge to which he had gone. 

He walked up to it, and recognized it as a robot-confessional booth. 

Barrent entered the booth. It was small, and there was a faint odor ofincense in the air. The room contained a single chair. Facing it was acomplex, brilliantly lighted panel. 

"Good morning, Will, " the panel said to him. 

Barrent had a sudden sense of helplessness when he heard that softmechanical voice. He remembered it now. The passionless voice knew all, understood all, and forgave nothing. That artfully manufactured voicehad spoken to him, had listened, and then had judged. In his dream, hehad personified the robot-confessor into the figure of a human judge. 

"You remember me?" Barrent asked. 

"Of course, " said the robot-confessor. "You were one of my parishionersbefore you went to Omega. "

"You sent me there. "

"For the crime of murder. "

"But I didn't commit the crime!" Barrent said. "I didn't do it, and youmust have known it!"

"Of course I knew it, " the robot-confessor said. "But my powers andduties are strictly defined. I sentence according to evidence, notintuition. By law, the robot-confessors must weigh only the concreteevidence which is put before them. They must, when in doubt, sentence. In fact, the mere presence of a man before me charged with murder mustbe taken as a strong presumption of his guilt. "

"Was there evidence against me?"

"Yes. "

"Who gave it?"

"I cannot reveal his name. "

"You must!" Barrent said. "Times are changing on Earth. The prisonersare coming back. Did you know that?"

"I expected it, " the robot-confessor said. 

"I must have the informer's name, " Barrent said. He took the needlebeamout of his pocket and advanced toward the panel. 

"A machine cannot be coerced, " the robot-confessor told him. 

"Give me the name!" Barrent shouted. 

"I should not, for your own good. The danger would be too great. Believeme, Will.... "

"The name!"

"Very well. You will find the informer at Thirty-five Maple Street. ButI earnestly advise you not to go there. You will be killed. You simplydo not know--"

Barrent pressed the trigger, and the narrow beam scythed through thepanel. Lights flashed and faded as he cut through the intricate wiring. At last all the lights were dead, and a faint gray smoke came from thepanel. 

Barrent left the booth. He put the needlebeam back in his pocket andwalked to Maple Street. 

 * * * * *

He had been here before. He knew this street, set upon a hill, risingsteeply between oak and maple trees. Those lampposts were old friends, that crack in the pavement was an ancient landmark. Here were thehouses, heavy with familiarity. They seemed to lean expectantly towardhim, like spectators waiting for the final act of an almost forgottendrama. 

He stood in front of 35 Maple Street. The silence which surrounded thatplain white-shuttered house struck him as ominous. He took theneedlebeam out of his pocket, looking for a reassurance he knew he couldnot find. Then he walked up the neat flagstones and tried the frontdoor. It opened. He stepped inside. 

He made out the dim shades of lamps and furniture, the dull gleam of apainting on the wall, a piece of statuary on an ebony pedestal. Needlebeam in hand, he stepped into the next room. 

And came face to face with the informer. 

Staring at the informer's face, Barrent remembered. In an overpoweringflood of memory he saw himself, a little boy, entering the closedclassroom. He heard again the soothing hum of machinery, watched thepretty lights blink and flash, heard the insinuating machine voicewhisper in his ear. At first, the voice filled him with horror; what itsuggested was unthinkable. Then, slowly, he became accustomed to it, andaccustomed to all the strange things that happened in the closedclassroom. 

He _learned_. The machines taught on deep, unconscious levels. Themachines intertwined their lessons with the basic drives, weaving apattern of learned behavior with the life instinct. They taught, thenblocked off conscious knowledge of the lessons, sealed it--and fused it. 

What had he been taught? _For the social good, you must be your ownpoliceman and witness. You must assume responsibility for any crimewhich might conceivably be yours. _

The face of the informer stared impassively at him. It was Barrent's ownface, reflected back from a mirror on the wall. 

He had informed on himself. Standing with the gun in his hand that day, looking down at the murdered man, learned unconscious processes hadtaken over. The presumption of guilt had been too great for him toresist, the similarity to guilt had turned into guilt itself. He hadwalked to the robot-confessor's booth, and there he had given completeand damning evidence against himself, had indicted himself on the basisof probability. 

The robot-confessor had passed the obligatory sentence and Barrent hadleft the booth. Well-trained in the lessons of the classroom, he hadtaken himself into custody, had gone to the nearest thought-controlcenter in Trenton. Already a partial amnesia had taken place, keyed toand triggered by the lessons of the closed classroom. 

The skilled android technicians in the thought-control center hadlabored hard to complete this amnesia, to obliterate any remnants ofmemory. As a standard safeguard against any possible recovering of hismemory, they had implanted a logical construct of his crime beneath theconscious level. As the regulations required, this construct containedan implication of the far-reaching power of Earth. 

When the job was completed, an automatized Barrent had marched out ofthe center, taken a special expressway to the prison ship depot, boardedthe prison ship, entered his cell, and closed the door and left Earthbehind him. Then he had slept until the checkpoint had been passed, after which the newly arrived guards awakened the prisoners fordisembarkation on Omega.... 

Now, staring at his own face in the mirror, the last of the consciouslessons of the classroom became conscious:

_The lessons of the closed classroom must never be consciously known bythe individual. If they become conscious the human organism must performan immediate act of self-destruction. _

Now he saw why his conquest of Earth had been so easy; it was because hehad conquered nothing. Earth needed no security forces, for thepoliceman and the executioner were implanted in every man's mind. Beneath the surface of Earth's mild and pleasant culture was aself-perpetuating robot civilization. An awareness of that civilizationwas punishable by death. 

And here, at this moment, the real struggle for Earth began. 

Learned behavior patterns intertwined with basic life drives forcedBarrent to raise the needlebeam, to point it toward his head. This waswhat the robot-confessor had tried to warn him about, and what themutant girl had skrenned. The younger Barrent, conditioned to absoluteand mindless conformity, had to kill himself. 

The older Barrent who had spent time on Omega fought that blind urge. Aschizophrenic Barrent fought himself. The two parts of him battled forpossession of the weapon, for control of the body, for ownership of themind. 

The needlebeam's movement stopped inches from his head. The muzzlewavered. Then slowly, the new Omegan Barrent, Barrent-2, forced theweapon away. 

His victory was short-lived. For now the lessons of the closed classroomtook over, forcing Barrent-2 into a contrasurvival struggle with theimplacable and death-desiring Barrent-1. 

Chapter Thirty

Conditioning took over and flung the fighting Barrents backward throughsubjective time, to those stress points in the past where death had beennear, where the temporal life fabric had been weakened, where apredisposition toward death had already been established. Conditioningforced Barrent-2 to re-experience those moments. But this time, thedanger was augmented by the full force of the malignant half of hispersonality--by the murderous informer, Barrent-1. 

 * * * * *

Barrent-2 stood under glaring lights on the blood-stained sands of theArena, a sword in his hand. It was the time of the Omegan Games. Comingat him was the Saunus, a heavily armored reptile with the leering faceof Barrent-1. Barrent-2 severed the creature's tail, and it changedinto three trichomotreds, rat-sized, Barrent-faced, with thedispositions of rabid wolverines. He killed two, and the third grinnedand bit his left hand to the bone. He killed it, and watchedBarrent-1's blood leak into the soggy sand.... 

 * * * * *

Three ragged men sat laughing on a bench, and a girl handed him a smallgun. "Luck, " she said. "I hope you know how to use this. " Barrent noddedhis thanks before he noticed that the girl was not Moera; she was theskrenning mutant who had predicted his death. Still, he moved into thestreet and faced the three Hadjis. 

Two of the men were mild-faced strangers. The third, Barrent-1, stepped forward and quickly brought his gun into firing position. Barrent-2 flung himself to the ground and pressed the trigger of hisunfamiliar weapon. He felt it vibrate in his hand and saw HadjiBarrent's head and shoulders turn black and begin to crumble. Before hecould take aim again, his gun was wrenched violently from his hand. Barrent-1's dying shot had creased the end of the muzzle. 

Desperately he dived for the weapon, and as he rolled toward it he sawthe second man, now wearing the Barrent-1 face, take careful aim. Barrent-2 felt pain flash through his arm, already torn by thetrichomotred's teeth. He managed to shoot this Barrent-1, and througha haze of pain faced the third man, now also Barrent-1. His arm wasstiffening rapidly, but he forced himself to press the trigger.... 

 * * * * *

_You're playing their game_, Barrent-2 told himself. Thedeath-conditioning will wear you down, will kill you. _You must seethrough it, get past it. It isn't really happening, it's in yourmind_.... 

But there was no time to think. He was in a large, circular, high-ceilinged room of stone in the cellars of the Department ofJustice. It was the Trial by Ordeal. Rolling across the floor toward himwas a glistening black machine shaped like a half-sphere, standingalmost four feet high. It came at him, and in the pattern of red, green, and amber lights he could see the hated face of Barrent-1. 

Now his enemy was in its ultimate form: the invariant robotconsciousness, as false and stylized as the conditioned dreams of Earth. The Barrent-1 machine extruded a single slender tentacle with a whitelight winking at the end of it. As it approached, the tentacle withdrew, and in its place appeared a jointed metal arm ending in a knife-edge. Barrent-2 dodged, and heard the knife scrape against the stone. 

_It isn't what you think it is_, Barrent-2 told himself. _It isn't amachine, and you are not back on Omega. This is only half of yourselfyou are fighting, this is nothing but a deadly illusion. _

But he couldn't believe it. The Barrent machine was coming at him again, its metal hide glistening with a foul green substance which Barrent-2recognized immediately as Contact Poison. He broke into a sprint, tryingto stay away from the fatal touch. 

_It isn't fatal_, he told himself. 

Neutralizer washed over the metal surface, clearing away the poison. Themachine tried to ram him. Barrent tried half-heartedly to push it aside. It crashed into him with stunning force, and he could feel ribssplintering. 

_It isn't real! You're letting a conditioned reflex talk you to death!You aren't on Omega! You're on Earth, in your own home, staring into amirror!_

But the pain was real, and the clubbed metal arm felt real as it crashedagainst his shoulder. Barrent staggered away. 

He felt horror, not at dying, but at dying too soon, before he couldwarn the Omegans of this ultimate danger planted deep in their ownminds. There was no one else to warn of the catastrophe that wouldstrike each man as he recovered his own specific memories of Earth. Tohis best knowledge, no one had experienced this and lived. If _he_ couldlive through it, countermeasures could be taken, counterconditioningcould be set up. 

He pulled himself to his feet. Coached since childhood in socialresponsibility, he thought of it now. He couldn't allow himself to diewhen his knowledge was vital to Omega. 

_This is not a real machine. _

He repeated it to himself as the Barrent machine revved up, picked upspeed, and hurtled toward him from the far side of the room. He forcedhimself to see beyond the machine, to see the patient droning lessons ofthe classroom which had created this monster in his mind. 

_This is not a real machine. _

He believed it.... 

And swung his fist into the hated face reflected in the metal. 

There was a moment of dazzling pain, and then he lost consciousness. When he came to, he was alone in his own home on Earth. His arm andshoulder ached, and several of his ribs seemed to be broken. On his lefthand he bore the stigmata of the trichomotred's bite. 

But with his cut and bleeding right hand he had smashed the mirror. Hehad shattered it and Barrent-1 utterly and forever. 

 OMEGA

 RELIGION: THE WORSHIP OF EVIL

 PLEASURES: THE THRILL OF THE HUNT, WITH HUMAN PREY

 STATUS: ATTAINED ONE CORPSE AT A TIME

 LIFE EXPECTANCY: THREE EARTH YEARS

 "ALL OF YOU ARE CRIMINALS THEREFORE MANKIND HAS REJECTED YOU, AND YOU HAVE BEEN SENT TO A WORLD WHERE YOUR OWN SORT IS KING. HERE YOU CAN MAKE YOUR OWN RULES, AND DIE BY THEM ... "

 THE STATUS CIVILIZATION

Transcriber's List of Corrections

 Chapter One Page 1, "futher" changed to "further. " (He awoke, rubbed his eyes, and waited for further memories to come. ) Page 9, "ot think" changed to "to think. " (All he wanted to do was lie down, to sleep, to have a chance to think about his situation. )

 Chapter Two Page 14, "theif" changed to "thief. " (I'm ashamed to admit that I can't remember what a credit thief is. )

 Chapter Five Page 36, "wtih" changed to "with. " (She appeared to be dissatisfied with her husband; and divorce was forbidden on Omega. )

 Chapter Nine Page 65, "murder" changed to "murderer. " (Before his visit to the Dream Shop he had never felt himself a murderer, no matter what the Earth authorities had accused him of. )

 Chapter Sixteen Page 107, "undected" changed to "undetected. " (By noon, Barrent was still undetected. ) Page 114, "were were" changed to "were. " (If he were able to get by the city gate, he would have to watch for the hunting patrols. )

 Chapter Eighteen Page 125, "Barren" changed to "Barrent. " (Barrent ducked out of a corner in which the creeping vines were trapping him. )

 Chapter Twenty-Three Page 151, "coud" changed to "could. " (Barrent backed away, wondering if a needlebeam could stop it. )

 Chapter Twenty-Four Page 159, Added a missing end-quote. (The full facilities of this park are waiting for all lovers of the great outdoors. ") Page 159, "Presumbaly" changed to "Presumably. " (Presumably they liked this sort of thing. )