“In just a few moments, they will be discharged after having served out seven full years on the convict planets—and they will be free to kill any man or woman in the Solar System with absolutely no fear of any kind of retribution. Take a good look at them, ladies and gentlemen of the television audience—it might be you they are after!”

After this cheering thought, the announcer let a moment or two elapse while the cameras let their lenses stare at the two men in prison gray. Then he stepped into range himself and addressed the smaller man.

“What is your name, sir?” he asked.

“Pre-criminal Otto Henck, 525514,” Blotto Otto responded automatically, though not able to repress a bit of a start at the sir.

“How does it feel to be back?”

“Fine, just fine.”

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get your discharge?”

Henck hesitated, then said, “Eat a good meal,” after a shy look at Crandall.

“How were you treated while you were a prisoner?”

“Oh, pretty good. As good as you could expect.”

“As good as a criminal could expect, eh? Although you’re not really a criminal yet, are you? You’re a pre-criminal.”

Henck smiled as if this were the first time he was hearing the term. “That’s right, sir. I’m a pre-criminal.”

“Want to tell the audience who the person is you’re going to become a criminal for?”

Henck looked reproachfully at the announcer, who chuckled throatily—and alone.

“Or if you’ve changed your mind about him or her?” There was a pause. Then the announcer said a little nervously: “You’ve served seven years on danger-filled, alien planets, preparing them for human colonization. That’s the maximum sentence the law allows, isn’t it?”