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Verrick's strong jaw moved. "Eleanor Stevens. Herb Moore."

"Oh," Shaeffer said. "I thought Moore was the man Benteley killed."

Verrick nodded. "Moore was his immediate superior. He was in charge of the project."

"If Benteley killed Moore, and Moore had betrayed you..." Shaeffer turend to Judge Waring. "It sounds as if Benteley was acting as a loyal serf."

Verrick snorted. "Moore betrayed me afterwards. After Benteley—" He broke off.

"Go on," Shaeffer said.

"After Benteley killed him," Verrick said woodenly, and with difficulty.

"What's that?" Judge Waring asked testily. "I don't understand."

"Tell him what the project was," Shaeffer suggested mildly. "Then he'll understand."

Verrick studied the table in front of him. He dog-eared a paper and finally spoke. "I have nothing more to say." He got slowly to his feet. "I withdraw the material relating to Moore's death. That really isn't relevant."

"What do you stand on?" Cartwright asked.

"Benteley pulled out and dropped his work. He left the job I assigned him, the job he took on when he swore on to me."

"Yes," Verrick agreed. "But he should have stayed. It was his job."

Cartwright also rose. "I have nothing else to say," he said to Judge Waring. "I swore Benteley on because I considered him legitimately free of his prior oath to Verrick. I considered the oath broken by Verrick. Benteley was sent to his death without knowledge. A protector isn't supposed to send a classified serf to involuntary death. If the serf has a classification, he must get that serf's written agreement."

Judge Waring's beard bobbed up and down. "A classified serf must agree. A protector can only destroy his classified serf on an involuntary basis if the serf has broken his oath. In breaking his oath, the serf forfeits his rights but remains his protector's property." Judge Waring gathered up his law books and tapes. "The case here rests on one point. If the protector in question broke his side of the oath first, the serf in question was legally within his rights to drop his work and leave. But if the protector did not break his side of the oath prior to the serf's departure, then the serf is a felon and liable to the death penalty."

Cartwright moved toward the door. Verrick followed after him, his heavy face dark and brooding, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "That's it, then," Cartwright said. "Well wait for your decision."

Benteley was with Rita O'Neill when the decision came. Shaeffer approached him briefly. "I've been scanning old Judge Waring," he said. "He's finally made up his mind."

It was "evening" in the resort. Benteley and Rita were sitting in one of the small side-bars of the resort, two vague shapes in the dim color-twisting shadows that hung around their table. A single aluminum candle sputtered between them. Directorate officials were sitting here and there in the room, murmuring, gazing vacantly ahead, sipping their drinks. A MacMillan moved silently around. "Well?" Benteley said. "What is it?"

"It's in your favor," Shaeffer said. "He'll announce it in a few minutes. Cartwright told me to let you know as soon as possible."

"Then Verrick has no claim over me," Benteley said wonderingly. "I'm safe."

"That's right." Shaeffer moved away from the table. "Congratulations." He disappeared through the entrance and was gone.

Rita put her hand on Benteley's. "Thank heavens."

Benteley felt no emotion, only an empty sort of daze. "I guess that settles it," he murmured. He absently watched a flow of color move up the side of the wall, hover against the ceiling and then re-descend like a fluid spider. It dissolved back into basic swirls and dabs, then formed once more and started its slow crawl back up.

"We should celebrate," Rita said.

"Yes, I'm where I wanted to be." Benteley sipped the remains of his drink. "Working for the Directorate. Sworn in to the Quizmaster. This is what I set out for, that day. It seems like a long time ago. Well, I've finally arrived."

He gazed down at his glass and was silent.

"How do you feel?"

"Not much different."

Rita tore apart a match folder and fed the fragments to the metallic candle. "You're not satisfied, are you?"

"I'm as far from satisfaction as it's humanly possible to be."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"I haven't really done anything. I thought it was the Hills, but Wakeman was right. It isn't the Hills—it's the whole society. The stench is everywhere. Getting away from the Hill system doesn't help me or anybody else." He pushed his drink angrily away. "I could simply hold my nose and pretend it isn't there. But that isn't enough. Something has to be done about it. The whole weak, bright thing has to be pulled down. It's rotten, corrupt... it's ready to fall on its face. But something has to go up in its place; something has to be built. Tearing down isn't enough. _I've got to help build up the new._ It has to be different for other people. I'd like to do something that really alters things. I have to do something that alters things."

"Maybe you can."

Benteley looked ahead into the future, from where he was sitting. "How? Where'll the chance come from? I'm still a serf. I'm still tied down and under oath."

"You're young. We're both young. We've got a lot of years ahead of us to do things and plan things." Rita lifted her glass. "We've a whole lifetime to alter the course of the universe."

Benteley smiled. "Okay. Ill drink to that." He raised his own glass and touched hers with a clear clink. "But not too much." His smile ebbed away. "Verrick is still hanging around. I'll wait until he leaves to do my drinking."

Rita finished feeding bits of paper to the white-hot candle flame. "What would happen if he killed you?"

"They'd shoot him."

"What would happen if he killed my uncle?"

"They'd take away his power card. He'd never be Quizmaster."

"He won't be Quizmaster anyhow," Rita said quietly.

"What's on your mind?" Benteley roused himself. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't believe he'll go back empty-handed. He can't stop at this point." She glanced up at him, dark-eyed and serious. "It's not over, Ted. He has to kill somebody."

Benteley started to answer. At that moment a slim shadow fell over the table. He glanced up, one hand in his pocket, against the cold heel of his gun.

"Hello," Eleanor Stevens said. "Mind if I join you?"

She sat down quietly facing them, hands folded calmly in front of her, a fixed, mechanical smile on her lips. Her green eyes flashed brightly at Benteley and then at Rita. In the half-shadows of the bar her hair glowed a deep rust red, soft and heavy against her bare neck and shoulders.

"Who are you?" Rita said.

Green eyes dancing, Eleanor leaned forward to light her cigarette from the candle. "Just a name. Not really a person, any more. Isn't that right, Ted?"

"You better get out of here," Benteley said. "I don't think Verrick wants you with us."

"I haven't seen Verrick since I got here. Except at a distance. Maybe I'll leave him. Maybe I'll just walk off; everybody else seems to be doing it."

"Be careful," Benteley said.

"Careful? About what?" Eleanor blew a cloud of gray smoke around Benteley and Rita. "I couldn't help hearing what you were saying. You're right." Her eyes were fixed intently on Rita; she spoke rapidly in a sharp, brittle voice. "Verrick is trying to decide. He wants you, Ted, but he'll settle for Cartwright if he can't get you. He's down in his quarters trying to make up his mind. He used to have Moore around to arrange things in a neat mathematical equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 50 for killing Benteley. But minus 100 for being shot in retribution. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. But a minus 50 for losing his power card. Both ways he loses."