s all-important document, he could make his six-months kill and move
upward to the status of Privileged Citizen.

Barrent nodded his agreement. But he wondered if Harrisbourg's wife, a
thin, restless woman, wouldn't decide to poison him first. She appeared
to be dissatisfied with her husband; and divorce was forbidden on Omega.

His other neighbor, Tem Rend, was a lanky, cheerful man in his early
forties. He had a heat scar which ran from just beneath his left ear
down almost to the corner of his mouth, a souvenir given him by a
status-seeking hopeful. The hopeful had picked on the wrong man. Tem
Rend owned a weapon shop, practiced constantly, and always carried the
articles of his trade with him. According to witnesses, he had performed
the counterkill in exemplary fashion. Tem's dream was to become a member
of the Assassin's Guild. His application was on file with that ancient
and austere organization, and he had a chance of being accepted within
the month.

Barrent bought a sidearm from him. On Rend's advice, he chose a
Jamiason-Tyre needlebeam. It was faster and more accurate than any
projectile weapon, and it transmitted the same shock-power as a heavy
caliber bullet. To be sure, it hadn't the spread of heat weapons such as
the Hadjis used, which could kill within six inches of their target. But
wide-range beamers encouraged inaccuracy. They were messy, careless
weapons which reinforced careless traits. Anyone could fire a heat gun;
but to use a needlebeam effectively, you had to practice constantly. And
practice paid off. A good needlebeam man was more than a match for any
two widebeam gunmen.

Barrent took this advice to heart, coming, as it did, from an apprentice
assassin and the owner of a weapon shop. He put in long hours on Rend's
cellar firing range, sharpening his reflexes, getting used to the
Quik-Thro holster.

There was a lot to do and a tremendous amount to learn, just in order to
survive. Barrent didn't mind hard work as long as it was for a
worthwhile goal. He hoped things would stay quiet for a while so he
could catch up to the older inhabitants.

But things never stayed quiet in Omega.

One day, late in the afternoon as he was closing up, Barrent received an
unusual-looking caller. He was a man in his fifties, heavy-set, with a
stern, swarthy face. He wore a red ankle-length robe and sandals. Around
his waist was a rawhide belt from which dangled a small black book and a
red-handled dagger.