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impulse, stopped abruptly.
    â€œHello,” he said.
    Janet Patzig looked at him out of sad blue eyes, but said nothing.
    â€œSay, look,” he said, sitting down. “If I’m being fresh, just tell me and I’ll go. I’m an out-of-towner. Here on a convention. And I’d just like someone feminine to talk to. If you’d rather I didn’t—”
    â€œI don’t care,” Janet Patzig said tonelessly.
    â€œA brandy,” Frelaine told the waiter. Janet Patzig’s glass was still half full.
    Frelaine looked at the girl and he could feel his heart throbbing against his ribs. This was more like it—having a drink with your Victim!
    â€œMy name’s Stanton Frelaine,” he said, knowing it didn’t matter.
    â€œJanet.”
    â€œJanet what?”
    â€œJanet Patzig.”
    â€œNice to know you.” Frelaine said, in a perfectly natural voice. “Are you doing anything tonight, Janet?”
    â€œI’m probably being killed tonight,” she said quietly.
    Frelaine looked at her carefully. Did she realize who he was? For all he knew, she had a gun leveled at him under the table.
    He kept his hand close to the fling-out button.
    â€œAre you a Victim?” he asked.
    â€œYou guessed it,” she said sardonically. “If I were you, I’d stay out of the way. No sense getting hit by mistake.”
    Frelaine couldn’t understand the girl’s calm. Was she a suicide? Perhaps she just didn’t care. Perhaps she wanted to die.
    â€œHaven’t you got any spotters?” he asked, with the right expression of amazement.
    â€œNo.” She looked at him, full in the face, and Frelaine saw something he hadn’t noticed before.
    She was very lovely.
    â€œI am a bad, bad girl,” she said lightly. “I got the idea I’d like to commit a murder, so I signed for ECB. Then—I couldn’t do it.”
    Frelaine shook his head, sympathizing with her.
    â€œBut I’m still in, of course. Even if I didn’t shoot, I still have to be a Victim.”
    â€œBut why don’t you hire some spotters?” he asked.
    â€œI couldn’t kill anyone,” she said. “I just couldn’t. I don’t even have a gun.”
    â€œYou’ve got a lot of courage,” Frelaine said, “coming out in the open this way.” Secretly, he was amazed at her stupidity.
    â€œWhat can I do?” she asked listlessly. “You can’t hide from a Hunter. Not a real one. And I don’t have enough money to make a good disappearance.”
    â€œSince it’s in your own defense, I should think—” Frelaine began, but she interrupted.
    â€œNo. I’ve made up my mind on that. This whole thing is wrong, the whole system. When I had my Victim in the sights—when I saw how easily I could—I could—”
    She pulled herself together quickly.
    â€œOh, let’s forget it,” she said and smiled.
    Frelaine found her smile dazzling.
    After that, they talked of other things. Frelaine told her of his business, and she told him about New York. She was twenty-two, an unsuccessful actress.
    They had supper together. When she accepted Frelaine’s invitation to go to the Gladiatorials, he felt absurdly elated.
    He called a cab—he seemed to be spending his entire time in New York in cabs—and opened the door for her. She started in. Frelaine hesitated. He could have pumped a shot into her at that moment. It would have been very easy.
    But he held back. Just for the moment, he told himself.
    The Gladiatorials were about the same as those held anywhere else, except that the talent was a little better. There were the usual historical events, swordsmen and netmen, duels with saber and foil.
    Most of these, naturally, were fought to the death.
    Then bull fighting, lion fighting, and rhino fighting, followed by the more modern events. Fights from behind barricades with bow and arrow.