Barrent turned into a street, and sprinted until he reached an alley. It looked familiar. He realized that he was in the Mutant Quarter, not far from Myla's house.
He could hear the cries of the Hunters behind him. He reached Myla's house, and found the door unlocked.
They were all together—the one-eyed man, the bald old woman, and Myla. They showed no surprise at his entrance.
"So they picked you in the Lottery," the old man said. "Well, it's what we expected."
Barrent asked, "Did Myla skren it in the water?"
"There was no need to," the old man said. "It was quite predictable, considering the sort of person you are. Bold but not ruthless. That's your trouble, Barrent."
The old man had dropped the obligatory form of address for a Privileged Citizen; and that, under the circumstances, was predictable, too.
"I've seen it happen year after year," the old man said. "You'd be surprised how many promising young men like yourself end up in this room, out of breath, holding a needlebeam as though it weighed a ton with Hunters three minutes behind them. They expect us to help them, but mutants like to stay out of trouble."
"Shut up, Dem," the old woman said.