The old man handed him an armful of rags. "Put these on, and I'll go to
work 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 a
begging cup. The old man had worked lavishly with a pinkish-yellow
plastic. Barrent's face was now monstrously swollen at the forehead, and
his nose was flat and spread out almost to the cheekbones. The shape of
his face had been altered, and the livid hunt-marks were hidden.
A detachment of Hunters raced past, barely giving him a glance. Barrent
began to feel more hopeful. He had gained valuable time. The last light
of Omega's watery sun was disappearing below the horizon. Night would
give him additional opportunities, and with any luck he could elude the
Hunters until dawn. After that were the Games, of course; but Barrent
wasn't planning on taking part in them. If his disguise was good enough
to protect him from an entire hunting city, there was no reason why he
should be captured for the Games.
Perhaps, after the holiday was over, he could appear again in Omegan
society. Quite possibly if he managed to survive the Hunt and altogether
escape the Games, he would be especially rewarded. Such a presumptuous
and successful breaking of the law would have to be rewarded....
He saw another group of Hunters coming toward him. There were five in
the group, and with them was Tem Rend, looking somber and proud in his
new Assassin's uniform.
"You!" one of the Hunters shouted. "Have you seen a Quarry pass this
way?"
"No, Citizen," Barrent said, bowing his head respectfully, his
needlebeam ready under his rags.
"Don't believe him," a man said. "These damned mutants never tell us a
thing."
"Come on, we'll find him," another man said. The group moved away, but
Tem 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's
reflexes were uncannily fast. Right now, Rend's needlebeam was hanging
loosely from his hand, while Barrent's was already aimed. That
split-second advantage might cancel out Rend's superior speed and
accuracy. But if it came to conclusions, Barrent thought, it would
probably be a tie; in which case, they would more than likely kill each
other.
"Well," Rend said, "if you _do_ see any of the Hunted, tell them not to
disguise themselves as mutants."
"Why not?"
"That trick never works for long," Rend said evenly. "It gives a man
about an hour's grace. Then the informers spot him. Now if _I_ were
being hunted, I might use mutant's disguise. But I wouldn't just sit on
a curbstone with it. I'd make a break out of Tetrahyde."
"You would?"
"Most certainly. A few Hunteds every year escape into the mountains. The
officials 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 seen
through his disguise. Tem was being a good neighbor--though a bad
assassin.
"Of course," Rend said, "it isn't easy to get out of the city. And once
a man's out, that doesn't mean he's clear. There are Hunter patrols to
watch out for, and even worse than that--"
Rend stopped abruptly. A group of Hunters were coming toward them. Rend
nodded pleasantly and walked off.
After the Hunters had passed, Barrent got up and started walking. Rend
had given him good advice. Of course some men would escape from the
city. Life in Omega's barren mountains would be extremely difficult; but
any difficulty was better than death.
If he were able to get by the city gate, he would have to watch for the
hunting patrols. And Tem had mentioned something worse. Barrent
wondered what that was. Special mountain-trained Hunters, perhaps?
Omega's unstable climate? Deadly flora and fauna? He wished Rend had
been able to finish the sentence.
By nightfall he had reached the South Gate. Bent painfully over, he
hobbled toward the guard detachment that blocked his way out.