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.