“Think you’re going to like killing, boy?” asked the old man on double crutches. Rob Jenne turned from the streams of moving cargo to his unnoticed companion in the shade of the starship’s hull. His own eyes were pale gray, suited like his dead-white skin to Burlage, whose ruddy sun could raise a blush but not a tan. When they adjusted, they took in the clerical collar which completed the other’s costume. The smooth, black synthetic contrasted oddly with the coveralls and shirt of local weave. At that, the Curwinite’s outfit was a cut above Rob’s own, the same worksuit of Burlage sisal that he had worn as a quarryhand at home. Uniform issue would come soon. At least, he hoped and prayed it would. When the youth looked away after an embarrassed grin, the priest chuckled. “Another damned old fool, hey, boy? There were a few in your family, weren’t there . . . the ones who’d quote the Book of the Way saying not to kill and here you go off for a hired murderer. Right?” He laughed again, seeing he had the younger man’s attention. [download]
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