And what had happened next? Confusion. Panic. A sensation of someone watching as he stood, weapon in hand, over the corpse. There, at the end of the street, was the refuge to which he had gone.
He walked up to it, and recognized it as a robot-confessional booth.
Barrent entered the booth. It was small, and there was a faint odor of incense in the air. The room contained a single chair. Facing it was a complex, brilliantly lighted panel.
"Good morning, Will," the panel said to him.
Barrent had a sudden sense of helplessness when he heard that soft mechanical voice. He remembered it now. The passionless voice knew all, understood all, and forgave nothing. That artfully manufactured voice had spoken to him, had listened, and then had judged. In his dream, he had personified the robot-confessor into the figure of a human judge.
"You remember me?" Barrent asked.
"Of course," said the robot-confessor. "You were one of my parishioners before you went to Omega."
"You sent me there."
"For the crime of murder."
"But I didn't commit the crime!" Barrent said. "I didn't do it, and you must have known it!"