"The One?" Blake whispered to Devries. "What does he mean, the One?"
"For the Ritual," V'Naric said, as though they should have known.
"And suppose," Janus said, "none of us chooses to be the One?"
V'Naric shrugged in a purely Earthian manner and raised the flame-pistol a bit higher. "Then it will be a pleasure for me to choose for you."
"No, thanks." Janus glanced at the others questioningly, hesitated, then took a notebook from his pocket and tore a page into four strips of varying length.
Devries was watching his friends' faces. Either they didn't know what was going to happen or were pretending not to. Devries said: "You know what he means by the Ritual! It's just his polite word for the torture I was telling you about!"
None of them answered, and he knew that they knew.
V'Naric's emotionless black eyes watched them.
They drew, recklessly, and Blake held the shortest slip. His face went suddenly pale but he did not say a word.
V'Naric was disappointed. He stared past Blake at Ketrik. He said, "I wish it were you," as his eyes tinged with the angry orange again. He glanced around at them, then he went on musingly: "The Lahk-tzor need not know, and it can make no difference. Yes, it will be you!" He gestured with the flame-pistol.