Barrent turned and saw a large, thick-shouldered red-haired man standing
beside 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 it
to look at my hands." He held out two massive paws covered with sparse
red hair. "But the skill's there. My hands remembered before any other
part of me. On the ship I sat in my cell and looked at my hands. They
itched. They wanted to be off and doing things. But the rest of me
couldn't remember what."
"What did you do?" Barrent asked.
"I closed my eyes and let my hands take over," Foeren said. "First thing
I knew, they were up and picking the lock of the cell." He held up his
huge 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 of
skilled 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 too
much for just a forger."
"You've found out more about yourself than I have," Barrent said. "All I
have to start with is a dream."
"Well, that's a start," Foeren said. "There must be ways of finding out
more. The important thing is, we're on Omega."
"Agreed," Barrent said sourly.
"Nothing wrong with that," Foeren said. "Didn't you hear what the man
said? This is our planet!"
"With an average life expectancy of three Earth years," Barrent reminded
him.
"That's probably just scare talk," Foeren said. "I wouldn't believe
stuff 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 more
gracious times. Gentlemen, I couldn't help overhearing your
conversation, and I agree most heartily with our red-haired friend.
Consider the possibilities! Earth has cast us aside? Excellent! We are
better off without her. We are all equal here, free men in a free
society. No uniforms, no guards, no soldiers. Just repentant former
criminals 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 I
can't remember what a credit thief is. But perhaps it'll come back to
me."
"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't
be any authorities. No, friends, we left all that nonsense behind on
Earth. 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 gray
prison uniform. He was fat, and dressed in garish yellow and blue
clothing. On a belt around his ample waist he carried a holstered pistol
and 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 a
little respect."
Even before he had taken his weapon from its holster, the new arrivals
had scrambled to their feet. The Quaestor looked at them with a faintly
regretful air and pushed the weapon back in its holster.
"The first thing you men better learn," the Quaestor said, "is your
status on Omega. Your status is _nowhere_. You're peons, and that means
you're _nothing_."
He waited a moment and then said, "Now pay attention, peons. You are
about to be instructed in your duties."