id THE VICTIM'S PROTECTIVE SOCIETY. That's
for me, Barrent thought.

He sprinted for it, running almost under the noses of the startled
Hadjis. A single gun blast scorched the ground under his heels; then he
had reached the doorway and flung himself inside.

He scrambled to his feet. His pursuers had not followed him; he could
still hear their voices in the street, amiably arguing questions of
precedence. Barrent realized he had entered some sort of sanctuary.

He was in a large, brightly lighted room. Several ragged men were
sitting on a bench near the door, laughing at a private joke. A little
further 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 man
sitting 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, president
of 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 uncertainty
with just a suggestion of vulnerability thrown in. It's quite
unmistakable."

"That's very interesting," Barrent said, glancing toward the door and
wondering how long his sanctuary would be respected. "Mr. Frendlyer, I'm
not a member of your organization--"

"That doesn't matter," Frendlyer said. "Membership in our group is
necessarily spontaneous. One joins when the occasion arises. Our
intention 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 large
book. 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 little
gold earring in his left ear."

"Quite right," Mr. Frendlyer said. "And today is Landing Day. You came
off the ship that landed today, and have been classified a peon. Is that
correct?"

"Yes, it is," Barrent said.

"Then I'm happy to say that everything is in order. The Landing Day Hunt
ends at sundown. You can leave here with knowledge that