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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
95
Barrent
was
not
comforted.
He
asked,
"What
should
I
do?"
The
old
man
handed
him
an
armful
of
rags.
"Put
these
on,
and
I'll
go
to
work
on
your
face.
You,
my
friend,
are
going
to
become
a
mutant."
In
a
short
time,
Barrent
was
back
on
the
street.
He
was
dressed
in
rags.
Beneath
them
he
was
holding
his
needlebeam,
and
in
his
free
hand
was
a
begging
cup.
The
old
man
had
worked
lavishly
with
a
pinkish-yellow
plastic.
Barrent's
face
was
now
monstrously
swollen
at
the
forehead,
and
his
nose
was
flat
and
spread
out
almost
to
the
cheekbones.
The
shape
of
his
face
had
been
altered,
and
the
livid
hunt-marks
were
hidden.
A
detachment
of
Hunters
raced
past,
barely
giving
him
a
glance.
Barrent
began
to
feel
more
hopeful.
He
had
gained
valuable
time.
The
last
light
of
Omega's
watery
sun
was
disappearing
below
the
horizon.
Night
would
give
him
additional
opportunities,
and
with
any
luck
he
could
elude
the
Hunters
until
dawn.
After
that
were
the
Games,
of
course;
but
Barrent
wasn't
planning
on
taking
part
in
them.
If
his
disguise
was
good
enough
to
protect
him
from
an
entire
hunting
city,
there
was
no
reason
why
he
should
be
captured
for
the
Games.
Perhaps,
after
the
holiday
was
over,
he
could
appear
again
in
Omegan
society.
Quite
possibly
if
he
managed
to
survive
the
Hunt
and
altogether
escape
the
Games,
he
would
be
especially
rewarded.
Such
a
presumptuous
and
successful
breaking
of
the
law
would
have
to
be
rewarded....
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