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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
94
"So
they
picked
you
in
the
Lottery,"
the
old
man
said.
"Well,
it's
what
we
expected."
Barrent
asked,
"Did
Myla
skren
it
in
the
water?"
"There
was
no
need
to,"
the
old
man
said.
"It
was
quite
predictable,
considering
the
sort
of
person
you
are.
Bold
but
not
ruthless.
That's
your
trouble,
Barrent."
The
old
man
had
dropped
the
obligatory
form
of
address
for
a
Privileged
Citizen;
and
that,
under
the
circumstances,
was
predictable,
too.
"I've
seen
it
happen
year
after
year,"
the
old
man
said.
"You'd
be
surprised
how
many
promising
young
men
like
yourself
end
up
in
this
room,
out
of
breath,
holding
a
needlebeam
as
though
it
weighed
a
ton
with
Hunters
three
minutes
behind
them.
They
expect
us
to
help
them,
but
mutants
like
to
stay
out
of
trouble."
"Shut
up,
Dem,"
the
old
woman
said.
"I
guess
we
have
to
help
you,"
Dem
said.
"Myla's
decided
on
it
for
reasons
of
her
own."
He
grinned
sardonically.
"Her
mother
and
I
told
her
she
was
wrong,
but
she
insisted.
And
since
she's
the
only
one
of
us
who
can
skren,
we
must
let
her
have
her
own
way."
Myla
said,
"Even
with
us
helping
you,
there's
very
little
chance
that
you'll
live
through
the
Hunt."
"If
I'm
killed,"
Barrent
said,
"how
will
your
prediction
come
true?
Remember,
you
saw
me
looking
at
my
own
corpse,
and
it
was
in
shiny
fragments."
"I
remember,"
Myla
said.
"But
your
death
won't
affect
the
prediction.
If
it
doesn't
happen
to
you
in
this
lifetime,
it
will
simply
catch
up
to
you
in
a
different
incarnation."
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