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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
54
Therkaler!
Barrent
left
the
pedestrian
level
and
took
the
highspeed
ramp
into
the
Sante
district.
As
the
ramp
moved,
he
fingered
the
small
weapon
in
his
pocket.
Handguns
were
illegal
on
Earth.
He
had
procured
his
through
untraceable
means.
He
was
determined
to
kill
Therkaler.
There
was
a
wash
of
grotesque
faces.
The
dream
blurred.
When
it
cleared,
Barrent
found
himself
aiming
his
handgun
at
a
thin,
cross-eyed
fellow
whose
scream
for
mercy
was
abruptly
cut
short.
The
informer,
blank-faced
and
stern,
noted
the
crime
and
informed
the
police.
The
police,
in
uniforms
of
gray,
took
him
into
custody
and
brought
him
before
the
judge.
The
judge,
with
his
vague
parchment
face,
sentenced
him
to
perpetual
servitude
upon
the
planet
Omega,
and
handed
down
the
obligatory
decree
that
Barrent
be
cleansed
of
memory.
Then
the
dream
turned
into
a
kaleidoscope
of
horror.
Barrent
was
climbing
a
slippery
pole,
a
sheer
mountainside,
a
smooth-sided
well.
Behind
him,
gaining
on
him,
was
Therkaler's
corpse
with
its
chest
ripped
open.
Supporting
the
corpse
on
either
side
were
the
blank-faced
informer
and
the
parchment-faced
judge.
Barrent
ran
down
a
hill,
a
street,
a
rooftop.
His
pursuers
were
close
behind
him.
He
entered
a
dim
yellow
room,
closed
and
locked
the
door.
When
he
turned
around,
he
saw
that
he
had
locked
himself
in
with
Therkaler's
corpse.
Fungus
was
blossoming
in
the
open
wound
in
the
chest,
and
the
scarred
head
was
crowned
with
red
and
purple
mold.
The
corpse
advanced,
reached
for
him,
and
Barrent
dived
headfirst
through
the
window.
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