"You've found out more about yourself than I have," Barrent said. "All I have to start with is a dream." "Well, that's a start," Foeren said. "There must be ways of finding out more. The important thing is, we're on Omega." "Agreed," Barrent said sourly. "Nothing wrong with that," Foeren said. "Didn't you hear what the man said? This is our planet!" "With an average life expectancy of three Earth years," Barrent reminded him. "That's probably just scare talk," Foeren said. "I wouldn't believe stuff like that from a guard. The big thing is, we have our own planet. You heard what they said. 'Earth rejects us.' Nova Earth! Who needs her? We've our own planet here. A whole planet, Barrent! We're free!" * * * * * Another man said, "That's right, friend." He was small, furtive-eyed, and ingratiatingly friendly. "My name is Joe," he told them. "Actually, the name is Joao; but I prefer the archaic form with its flavor of more gracious times. Gentlemen, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and I agree most heartily with our red-haired friend. Consider the possibilities! Earth has cast us aside? Excellent! We are better off without her. We are all equal here, free men in a free society. No uniforms, no guards, no soldiers. Just repentant former criminals who want to live in peace." "What did they get you for?" Barrent asked. "They said I was a credit thief," Joe said. "I'm ashamed to admit that I can't remember what a credit thief is. But perhaps it'll come back to me." "Maybe the authorities have some sort of memory retraining system," Foeren said. "Authorities?" Joe said indignantly. "What do you mean, authorities? This is _our_ planet. We're all equal here. By definition, there can't be any authorities. No, friends, we left all that nonsense behind on Earth. Here we--" He stopped abruptly. The barracks' door had opened and a man walked in. He was evidently an older resident of Omega since he lacked the gray prison uniform. He was fat, and dressed in garish yellow and blue clothing. On a belt around his ample waist he carried a holstered pistol and a knife. He stood just inside the doorway, his hands on his hips, glaring at the new arrivals. "Well?" he said. "Don't you new men recognize a Quaestor? Stand up!" None of the men moved. The Quaestor's face went scarlet. "I guess I'll have to teach you a little respect." Even before he had taken his weapon from its holster, the new arrivals had scrambled to their feet. The Quaestor looked at them with a faintly regretful air and pushed the weapon back in its holster. "The first thing you men better learn," the Quaestor said, "is your status on Omega. Your status is _nowhere_. You're peons, and that means you're _nothing_." He waited a moment and then said, "Now pay attention, peons. You are about to be instructed in your duties." Chapter Three