He knew he was asking for trouble. He expected trouble, and the knowledge was strangely exhilarating. After all, there was nothing wrong in breaking the law on Omega—as long as you could get away with it.
Within a month, he had a chance to test his decision. Walking to his ship one day, a man shoved against him in a crowd. Barrent moved away, and the man grabbed him by a shoulder and pulled him around.
“Who the hell do you think you’re pushing?” the man asked. He was short and stocky. His clothes indicated Privileged Citizen’s rank. Five silver stars on his gunbelt showed his number of authorized kills.
“I didn’t push you,” Barrent said.
“The hell you didn’t, mutant-lover.”
The crowd became silent when they heard the deadly insult. Barrent backed away, waiting. The man went for his sidearm in a quick, artistic draw. But Barrent’s needlebeam was out a full half-second before the man had cleared his holster.
He drilled the man neatly between the eyes; then, sensing movement behind him, he swung around.
Two Privileged Citizens were drawing heat guns. Barrent fired, aiming automatically, dodging behind the protection of a shop-front. The men crumpled. The wooden front buckled under the impact of a projectile weapon, and splinters slashed his hand. Barrent saw a fourth man firing at him from an alley. He brought the man down with two shots.
And that was that. In the space of a few seconds, he had killed four men.
Although he didn’t think of himself as having a murderer’s mentality, Barrent was pleased and elated. He had fired only in self-defense. He had given the status-seekers something to think about; they wouldn’t be so quick to gun for him next time. Quite possible they would concentrate on easier targets and leave him alone.
When he returned to his shop, he found Joe waiting for him. The little credit-thief had a sour look on his face. He said, “I saw your fancy gunwork today. Very pretty.”
“Thank you,” Barrent said.
“Do you think that sort of thing will help you? Do you think you can just go on breaking the law?”
“I’m getting away with it,” Barrent said.
“Sure. But how long do you think you can keep it up?”
“As long as I have to.”
“Not a chance,” Joe said. “Nobody keeps on breaking the law and getting away with it. Only suckers believe that.”
“They’d better send some good men after me,” Barrent said, reloading his needlebeam.
“That’s not how it’ll happen,” Joe said. “Believe me, Will, there’s no counting the ways they have of getting you. Once the law decides to move, there’ll be nothing you can do to stop it. And don’t expect any help from that girl friend of yours, either.”
“Do you know her?” Barrent asked.
“I know everybody,” Joe said moodily. “I’ve got friends in the government. I know that people have had about enough of you. Listen to me, Will. Do you want to end up dead?”
Barrent shook his head. “Joe, can you visit Moera? Do you know how to contact her?”
“Maybe,” Joe said. “What for?”
“I want you to tell her something,” Barrent said. “I want you to tell her that I didn’t commit the murder I was accused of on Earth.”
Joe stared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No. I found the man who actually did it. He’s a Second Class Resident named Illiardi.”
“Why spread it around?” Joe asked. “No sense in losing credit for the kill.”
“I didn’t murder the man,” Barrent said. “I want you to tell Moera. Will you?”
“Sure, I’ll tell her,” Joe said. “If I can locate her. Look, will you remember what I’ve said? Maybe you still have time to do something about it. Go to Black Mass or something. It might help.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” Barrent said. “You’ll be sure to tell her?”
“I’ll tell her,” Joe said. He left the Antidote Shop shaking his head sadly.
CHAPTER 15
THREE days later, Barrent received a visit from a tall, dignified old man who stood as rigidly erect as the ceremonial sword that hung by his side. The old man wore a high-collared coat, black pants and gleaming black boots. From his clothing, Barrent knew he was a high government official. Perhaps this was the reckoning he expected.
“The government of Omega sends you greetings,” said the official. “I am Norins Jay, subminister of Games. I am here to inform you of your good fortune.”
Barrent nodded warily and invited the old man into his apartment. But Jay, erect and proper, preferred to stay in the store.
“The yearly Lottery drawing was held last night,” Jay said. “You, Citizen Barrent, are one of the prize winners. I congratulate you.”
“What is the prize?” Barrent asked. He had heard of the yearly Lottery, and had some idea of its significance. But he wanted to get all information possible from this official.
“The prize,” Jay said, “is honor and fame. Your name will be inscribed on the civic rolls. Your record of kills will be preserved for posterity. More concretely, you will receive a new government-issue needlebeam, and afterwards you will be awarded posthumously the silver sunburst decoration.”
“Posthumously? After death, you mean?”
“Of course,” Jay said. “The silver sunburst is always awarded after death. It is no less an honor for that.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Barrent said. “Is there anything else?”
“Just one other thing,” Jay said. “As a Lottery winner, you will take part in the symbolic ceremony of the Hunt, which marks the beginning of the yearly Games. The Hunt, as you may know, personifies our Omegan way of life. In the Hunt we see all the complex factors of the dramatic rise and fall from grace, combined with the thrill of the duel and the excitement of the chase. Even peons are allowed to participate in the Hunt, for this is the one holiday open to all, and the one holiday that symbolizes the common man’s ability to rise above the restraint of his status.”
“If I understand correctly,” Barrent said, “you mean I’m one of the people who have been chosen to be hunted. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Jay said.
“But you said the ceremony is symbolic. Doesn’t that mean nobody gets killed?”
“Not at all!” Jay said. “On Omega, the symbol and the thing symbolized are usually the same. When we say a Hunt, we mean a true hunt. Otherwise the thing would be mere empty pageantry.”
Barrent stopped a moment to consider the situation. It was not a pleasing prospect. In a man-to-man duel, he had an excellent chance of survival. But the yearly Hunt, in which the entire population of Tetrahyde took part, gave him no chance at all. He should have been ready for a possibility like this.
“How was I picked?” he asked.
“By pure random selection,” said Norins Jay. “No other method would be fair to the Hunters, who give up their lives for Omega’s greater glory.”
“I can’t believe I was picked purely by chance.”
“The selection was random,” Jay said. “It was made, of course, from a list of suitable victims. Not everybody can be a Quarry in a Hunt. A man must have demonstrated a considerable degree of tenacity, toughness, and skill before the Games Committee would even consider him for selection. Being Hunted is an honor; it is not one which we confer lightly.”
“To hell with that,” Barrent said. “You people in the government were out to get me. Now you’ve succeeded. It’s as simple as that.”
“It isn’t simple at all. I can assure you that none of us in the government bear you the slightest ill will. You may have heard foolish stories about vindictive officials, but they simply aren’t true. You have broken the law, but that is no longer the government’s concern. Now it is entirely a matter between you and the law.”
Jay’s frosty blue eyes flashed when he spoke of the law. His back stiffened, and his mouth grew firm.
“The law,” he said, “is above the criminal and th
e judge, and rules them both. Even when you violate the law, it is the law which you are violating; and therefore your actions are still in terms of the law. The law is inescapable, for an action is either lawful or unlawful. The law, indeed, may be said to have a life of its own, an existence quite apart from the finite lives of the beings who administer it. The law governs every aspect of human behavior; therefore, to the same extent that men are lawful beings, the law is human. And being human, the law has its idiosyncracies, just as a man has his. For a citizen who abides by the law, the law is distant and difficult to find. For those who reject and violate it, the law emerges from its musty sepulchres and goes in search of the transgressor.”
“And that,” Barrent said, “is why I was chosen for the Hunt?”
“Of course,” Jay said. “If you had not been chosen in that way, the zealous and never-sleeping law would have selected another means, using whatever instruments were at its disposal.”
“Thanks for telling me,” Barrent said. “How long do I have before the Hunt begins?”
“Until dawn. The Hunt begins then, and ends at dawn of the following day.”
“What happens if I’m not killed?”
Norins Jay smiled faintly. “That doesn’t happen often, Citizen Barrent. I’m sure it need not worry you.”
“It happens sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Those who survive the Hunt are automatically enrolled in the Games.”
“And if I survive the Games?”
“Forget it,” Jay said in a friendly manner.
“But what if I do?”
“Believe me, Citizen, you won’t.”
“I still want to know what happens if I do.”
“Those who live through the Games are beyond the law.”
“That sounds good,” Barrent said.
“It isn’t. The law, even at its most threatening, is still your guardian. Your rights may be few, but the law guarantees their observance. It is because of the law that I do not kill you right now.” Jay opened his hand, and Barrent saw a tiny singleshot gun in it. “The law sets limits and acts as a modifier upon the behavior of the lawbreaker and the law enforcer. To be sure, the law now states that you must die. But all men must die. The law, by its ponderous and introspective nature, gives you time in which to die. You have a day at least; and without the law, you would have no time at all.”
“What happens,” Barrent asked, “if I survive the Games and pass beyond the law?”
“There is only one thing beyond the law,” Norins Jay said, “and that is The Black One himself. Those who pass beyond the law belong to him. But it would be better to die a thousand times than to fall living into the hands of The Black One.”
Barrent had long ago dismissed the religion of The Black One as superstitious nonsense. But now, listening to Jay’s earnest voice, he began to wonder. There might be a difference between the commonplace worship of evil, and the actual presence of Evil itself.
“But if you have any luck,” Jay said, “you will be killed before anything like that can happen to you. Now I will end the interview with your final instructions.”
Still holding the tiny gun, Jay reached into a pocket with his free hand and withdrew a red pencil. In a quick, practiced motion he drew the pencil over Barrent’s cheeks and forehead. He was finished before Barrent had time to recoil.
“That marks you as one of the Hunted,” Jay said. “The huntmarks are indelible. Here is your government-issue needlebeam.” He drew a weapon from his pocket and put it on the table. “The Hunt, as I told you, begins at first light of dawn. Anyone may kill you then, except another Hunted man. You may kill in return. But I suggest that you do so with the utmost circumspection. The sound and flash of their guns have given many Hunteds away. If you try concealment, be sure you have an exit. Remember that others know Tetrahyde better than you. Skilled Hunters have explored all the possible hiding places over the years, and too many of the Hunted are trapped during the first hours of the holiday. Good luck, Citizen Barrent.”
Jay walked to the door. He opened it and turned to Barrent again.
“There is, I might add, one way of preserving both life and liberty during the Hunt. But, since it is illegal, I cannot tell you what it is.”
Jay bowed and went out.
Barrent found, after repeated washings, that the crimson huntmarks on his face were indeed indelible. During the evening, he disassembled the government-issue needlebeam and inspected its parts. As he had suspected, the weapon was defective. He discarded it in favor of his own gun.
He made his preparations for the Hunt, putting food, water, a coil of rope, a knife, extra ammunition and a spare needlebeam into a small knapsack. Then he waited, hoping against all reason that Moera and her organization would bring him a last-minute reprieve.
But no reprieve came. An hour before dawn, Barrent shouldered his knapsack and left the Antidote Shop. He had no idea what the other Hunteds were doing; but he had already decided on a place that might be secure from the Hunters.
CHAPTER 16
AUTHORITIES on Omega agree that a Hunted man experiences a change of character. If he were able to look upon the Hunt as an abstract problem, he might arrive at certain more or less valid conclusions. But the typical Hunted, no matter how great his intelligence, cannot divorce emotion from his reasoning. After all, he is being hunted. He becomes panic-stricken. Safety seems to lie in distance and depth. He goes as far from home as possible; he goes deep into the ground along the subterranean maze of sewers and conduits. He chooses darkness instead of light, empty places in preference to crowded ones.
This behavior is well known to experienced Hunters. Quite naturally, they look first in the dark, empty places, in the underground passageways, in deserted stores and buildings. Here they find and flush the Hunted, with a sad and inexorable precision.
Barrent had thought about this. He had discarded his first instinct, which was to hide in the intricate Tetrahyde sewer system. Instead, an hour before dawn, he went directly to the large, brightly lighted building that housed the Ministry of Games.
When the corridors seemed to be deserted, he entered quickly, read the directory, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He passed a dozen office doors, and finally stopped at the one marked Norins Jay, Sub-Minister of Games. He listened for a moment, then opened the door and stepped in.
There was nothing wrong with old Jays’ reflexes. Before Barrent was through the doorway, the old man had spotted the crimson hunt-marks on his face. Jay opened a drawer and reached for a gun.
Barrent had no desire to kill the old man. He flung the government-issue needlebeam at Jay, and caught him full on the forehead. Jay staggered back against the wall, then collapsed to the floor.
Bending over him, Barrent found that his pulse was strong. He bound and gagged the subminister, and pushed him out of sight under his desk. Hunting through the drawers, he found a Do Not Disturb sign. He hung this outside the door, and locked it. With his own needlebeam drawn, he sat down behind the desk and waited to see what would happen.
Dawn came, and a watery sun rose over Omega. From the window, Barrent could see the streets filled with people. There was a hectic carnival atmosphere in the city, and the noise of the holiday celebration was punctuated by the occasional hiss of a beamer of the flat explosion of a projectile weapon.
By noon, Barrent was still undetected. He looked through the windows, and found that he had access to the roof. He was glad to have an exit, just as Jay had suggested.
By mid-afternoon, Jay had recovered consciousness. After struggling with his bonds for a while, he lay quietly under the desk. There was nothing else he could do.
Just before evening, someone knocked at the door. “Minister Jay, may I come in?”
“Not right now,” Barrent said, in what he hoped was a fair imitation of Jay’s voice.
“All right,” the man said. “I just thought you’d be interested in the statistics of the Hunt. So far, the Citizens
have killed seventy-three Hunteds, with eighteen left to go. That’s quite an improvement over last year.”
“Yes, it is,” Barrent said. “The percentage who hid in the sewer system was larger this year. A few tried to bluff it out by staying in their homes. We’re tracking down the rest in the usual places.”
“Good,” said Barrent.
“None have made the real break so far,” the man said. “Strange that Hunteds rarely think of it. But of course, it saves us from having to use the machines.”
“Yes,” Barrent said, wondering what the man was talking about. The break? Where was there to break to? And how would machines be used?
“We’re already selecting alternates for the Games,” the man said. “I’d like to have your approval of the list.”
“Use your own judgment,” Barrent said.
“Yes sir,” the man said. In a moment, Barrent heard his footsteps moving down the hall. He decided that the man had become suspicious. The conversation had lasted too long, he should have broken it off earlier. Perhaps he should move to a different office.
Before he could do anything, there was a heavy pounding at the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Citizen’s Search Committee,” a bass voice answered. “Please open the door. A clerk gave us reason to believe that a Hunted is hiding in there.”
“Nonsense,” Barrent said. “There’s no one here but me. This is a government office. You can’t come in.”
“We can,” the bass voice said. “No room, office or building is closed to a Citizen on Hunt Day. Are you opening up?”
Barrent had already moved to the window. He opened it, and heard behind him the sound of men hammering at the door. He fired through the door twice to give them something to think about; then he climbed out through the window.
The rooftops of Tetrahyde, Barrent saw at once, looked like a perfect place for a Hunted; therefore they were the last place a Hunted should be. The maze of closely connected roofs, chimneys and spires seemed made to order for a chase; but men were already on the roofs. They shouted when they saw him.
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