HISTORY REPEATS-5
633 Words
THE STRANGER LOPED away on a crazy run. As he turned the corner he ran face on to one of the uniformed mercenaries of Xanabar. The mercenary collared the stranger and took a quick inventory of the slashed right hand, the ripped clothing, and adding those to the frightened gallop he came back with the stranger’s left arm held in a backlock.
Haughtily he demanded, “What goes on in Xanabar?”
Peter eyed the mercenary sourly. “Kidnaping and attempted murder.”
“Who says such lawlessness runs rife in Xanabar?”
“I say so. Peter Hawley of the Extraterrestrial Service. I say so.”
“You are mistaken, barbarian.”
“I say so,” said Buregarde.
“You’re an animal.”
“I am—and so are you.”
“I’ll not be insulted by an animal! I am—”
“Take it easy, Buregarde.”
“Take it easy nothing. This mercenary foot-soldier forgets one thing—or maybe he doesn’t know about it.”
“Don’t call His Excellency’s Peacekeepers ‘mercenaries’!” snapped the mercenary.
“Peacekeeper,” chuckled the dog. “Well listen and become wise. Dog and man, man and dog, have been together for about a half-million years. Once dog helped man in war and peace, and man gave dog food and shelter. Dog helped man rise above the level of the savage, and man has helped dog rise to the level of intelligence. But dog has one advantage. None of us has been intelligent long enough to really believe that dog has a soul, and those of us who do believe that also know that dog’s soul is devoted to man. Do you know about dog, Xanabian—Peacekeeper?”
“No—”
“Then don’t force me to show you what kind of adversary intelligent dog can be. Mere man is a pushover!”
“Bah!”
Buregarde loped in a mad circle around the mercenary. His Excellency’s Peacekeeper turned to stay facing the dog but found himself turning his back on Peter. He stepped back and to one side and reached for his heavy-duty pencil—the dog gave a low growl of warning and crouched for a leap.
“He means it—Peacekeeper,” said Peter Hawley quietly. “Draw that pencil and he’ll have your hand in ribbons before you can level it.”
The mercenary drew in his breath.
“Whistle for help and he’ll have your throat.”
“I shall not permit this high handed—”
“Then stop sounding off and listen to us!” snapped Peter. “I charge the Empire of Xanabar with the crime of being indifferent to the welfare of the stranger within her gate. I charge kidnaping and attempted murder, and I charge the latter against the specimen you hold in your hand.”
“An outlander!”
“Does he bring his own law to Xanabar? If he does, then so do I!”
“I arrest you all for breaking the Peace of Xanabar.”
“Me, too?” asked Buregarde.
The mercenary ignored the dog’s eager sally. “You are armed, Terrestrial.”
“So was he.”
“So am I!” snarled Buregarde showing a fine set of white fangs in the most effective gesture.
“This must cease!” thundered the mercenary. “You cannot threaten His Excellency’s Peacekeepers!”
Buregarde growled, “Slip the mercenary a crystal-cut, boss. We’ve got a girl to find!”
“A girl? A Terrestrial girl?” asked the mercenary with his eyes opening.
“The daughter of our envoy to Lonaphite. Miss Vanessa Lewis. Last reported in her stateroom aboard the Terrestrial Spacecraft Polaris during landing pattern at Xanabar Citadel Spaceport.”
The mercenary said, “The work of outlanders—riffraff such as this!”
“Well,” snapped Peter Hawley, “do His Excellency’s Peacemakers condone such goings-on?”
“We keep the Peace of Xanabar. Your charge is your word, Terrestrial.”
“Terrestrial Barbarian, isn’t it?”
“I arrest you—”
“Oh, stop it. For fiveweight of crystal-cut can you be bribed to haul that specimen off to jail and let me go about making my own Peace with Xanabar?”
“You accuse me of accepting bribes?”
“You re a mercenary, aren’t you? Sevenweight of crystal-cut.”
“Ten.”
“Seven,” said Peter.
“Ten,” said the mercenary, “and you have one more caper coming.”
“Ten,” agreed Peter Hawley, “and you look the other way when I take the lid off.”
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- Writer
