The street was deserted except for the three Hadjis, who stood about
twenty yards away, conversing quietly. As Barrent came through the
doorway, two of the men moved back; the third, his sidearm negligently
lowered, stepped forward. When he saw that Barrent was armed he quickly
brought his gun into firing position.
Barrent flung himself to the ground and pressed the trigger of his
unfamiliar weapon. He felt it vibrate in his hand, and saw the Hadji's
head and shoulders turn black and begin to crumble. Before he could take
aim at the other men, Barrent's gun was wrenched violently from his
hand. The Hadji's dying shot had creased the end of the muzzle.
Desperately Barrent dived for the gun, knowing he could never reach it
in time. His skin pricked in expectation of the killing shot. He rolled
to his gun, still miraculously alive, and took aim at the nearest
Hadji.
Just in time, he checked himself from firing. The Hadjis had holstered
their weapons. One of them was saying, "Poor old Draken. He simply could
not learn to take quick aim."
"Lack of practice," the other man said. "Draken never spent much time on
the firing range."
"Well, if you ask me, it's a very good object lesson. One mustn't get
out of practice."
"And," the other man said, "one mustn't underestimate even a peon." He
looked at Barrent. "Nice shooting, fellow."
"Yes, very nice indeed," the other man said. "It's difficult to fire a
handgun 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. But
they weren't moving suspiciously. They seemed to regard the entire
incident as closed.
"What happens now?" Barrent asked.
"Nothing," one of the Hadjis said. "On Landing Day, one kill is all that
any man or hunting party is allowed. After that, you're out of the
hunt."
"It's really a very unimportant holiday," the other man said. "Not like
the Games or the Lottery."
"All that remains for you to do," the first man said, "is to go to the
Registration Office and collect your inheritance."
"My _what_?"
"Your inheritance," the Hadji said patiently. "You're entitled to the
entire estate of your victim. In Draken's case, I'm sorry to say, it
doesn't amount to very much."
"He never was a good businessman," the other said sadly. "Still, it'll
give you a little something to start life with. And since you've made an
authorized kill--even though a highly unusual one--you move upward in
status. You become a Free Citizen."
People had come back into the streets, and shopkeepers were unlocking
their steel shutters. A truck marked BODY DISPOSAL UNIT 5 drove up, and
four uniformed men took away Draken's body. The normal life of Tetrahyde
had begun again. This, more than any assurances from the Hadjis, told
Barrent that the moment for murder was over. He put the girl's weapon in
his 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. But
since things were suddenly going his way, he decided to accept whatever
happened without question. There would be plenty of time later to find
out where he stood.
Accompanied by the Hadjis, he went to the Registration Office on
Gunpoint Square. There a bored clerk heard the entire story, produced
Draken's business papers, and pasted Barrent's name over Draken's.
Barrent noticed that several other names had been pasted over. There
seemed to be a fast turnover of businesses in Tetrahyde.
He found that he was now the owner of an antidote shop at 3 Blazer
Boulevard.
The business papers also officially recognized Barrent's new rank as a
Free Citizen. The clerk gave him a ring of status, made of gunmetal, and
advised him to change into Citizen's clothing as soon as possible if he
wished to avoid unpleasant incidents.
Outside, the Hadjis wished him luck. Barrent decided to see what his new
business was like.
* * * * *
Blazer Boulevard was a short alley running between two streets. Near the
middle 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 saw
ceiling-high shelves stocked with labeled bottles, cans and cartons, and
square glass jars containing odd bits of leaves, twigs, and fungus. In
back of the counter was a small shelf of books with titles like _Quick
Diagnosis in Acute Poisoning Cases_; _The Arsenic Family_; and _The
Permutations of Henbane_.
It was quite obvious that poisoning played a large part in the daily
life of Omega. Here was a store--and presumably there were others--whose
sole purpose was to dispense antidotes. Barrent thought about this and
decided that he had inherited a strange but honorable business. He would
study 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 his
prison ship uniform, weighed it in his hand for a moment, then put it
into a pocket of his new suit. He left the store and found his way back
to the Victim's Protective Society.
* * * * *
The door was still open, and the three ragged men were still sitting on
the bench. They weren't laughing now. Their long wait seemed to have
tired them. At the other end of the room, Mr. Frendlyer was seated
behind his desk, reading through a thick pile of papers. There was no
sign of the girl.
Barrent walked to the desk, and Frendlyer stood up to greet him.
"My congratulations!" Frendlyer said. "Dear fellow, my very warmest
congratulations. 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 rights
and obligations as a Free Citizen. What could be more natural? If you
take 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 about
my rights and obligations, of course. But right now, I want to find that
girl."
"Girl?"
"She was sitting on the bench when I came in. She was the one who gave
me the gun."
Mr. Frendlyer looked astonished. "Citizen, you must be laboring under a
misapprehension. There has been no woman in this office all day."
"She was sitting on the bench near those three men. A very attractive
dark-haired girl. You must have noticed her."
"I would certainly have noticed her if she had been here," Frendlyer
said, winking. "But as I said before, no woman has entered these
premises today."
Barrent glared at him and pulled the gun out of his pocket. "In that
case, how did I get this?"
"I lent it to you," Frendlyer said. "I'm glad you were able to use it
successfully, but now I would appreciate its return."
"You're lying," Barrent said, taking a firm grip on the weapon. "Let's
ask those men."
He walked over to the bench with Frendlyer close behind him. He caught
the attention of the man who had been sitting nearest the girl and asked
him, "Where did the girl go?"
The man lifted a sullen, unshaven face and said, "What girl you talking
about, 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 ten
this morning."
"I didn't see her neither," the third man said. "And I got sharp eyes."