The Status Civilization

Murder? He frowned. He wasn't ready to accept that. A man tapped him on the shoulder. "How you feeling?" Barrent turned and saw a large, thick-shouldered red-haired man standing beside him. "Pretty good," Barrent said. "You were in line behind me, weren't you?" "That's right. Number 401. Name's Danis Foeren." Barrent introduced himself. "Your crime?" Foeren asked. "Murder." Foeren nodded, looking impressed. "Me, I'm a forger. Wouldn't think it to look at my hands." He held out two massive paws covered with sparse red hair. "But the skill's there. My hands remembered before any other part of me. On the ship I sat in my cell and looked at my hands. They itched. They wanted to be off and doing things. But the rest of me couldn't remember what." "What did you do?" Barrent asked. "I closed my eyes and let my hands take over," Foeren said. "First thing I knew, they were up and picking the lock of the cell." He held up his huge hands and looked at them admiringly. "Clever little devils!" "Picking the lock?" Barrent asked. "But I thought you were a forger." "Well, now," Foeren said, "forgery was my main line. But a pair of skilled hands can do almost anything. I suspect that I was only caught for forgery; but I might also have been a safeman. My hands know too much for just a forger." "You've found out more about yourself than I have," Barrent said. "All I have to start with is a dream."