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."
Barrent turned back to Frendlyer. "Why are you lying to me?"
"I've told you the simple truth," Frendlyer said. "There has been no girl in here all day. I lent you the gun, as is my privilege as President of the Victim's Protective Society. I would now appreciate its return."
"No," Barrent said. "I'm keeping the gun until I find the girl."
"That might not be wise," Frendlyer said. He hastily added, "Thievery, I mean, is not condoned under these circumstances."
"I'll take my chances on that," Barrent said. He turned and left the Victim's Protective Society.