"You'll be better off here, doing your job; there are no such havens as Classless Misfit societies."
She was shaking her head as he spoke, trying to fight away the words that were shattering her cherished dream. And the words were having their effect because she believed him, because he believed himself.
"No," she was saying softly. "No, no, no."
The Guesser brought up the gun muzzle and shot her where she stood.
Half an hour later, The Guesser was fighting down his own fear. He was hard put to do it, but he managed to stride purposefully across the great spacefield toward the towering bulk of the Trobwell without betraying that fear.
If they caught him now—
He closed his mind against the thought and kept on walking.
At the base of the landing cradle, a Class Four guard was standing stolidly. He bowed his head and saluted as The Guesser walked by.
It's so easy! The Guesser thought. So incredibly easy!