His name was Hrlec Brey. He was a big man, and he moved slowly as if he had all the time in the world. And he had. He had all the time—years and years behind him, years and years ahead. And the world was his, its length and breadth, its skies and seas, the solitude of night, the loneliness of day. He was eating dinner when the knowledge smashed across his mind: Tonight I am going to die. He put down his leg of ayala and stared blankly at the plank wall across the room. That he was going to die d