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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
81
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
shop
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
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.
"You
lie,
you
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's
weapon
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
possibly
they
would
concentrate
on
easier
targets
and
leave
him
alone.
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