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pointed him towardthe far corner.

  "I count three," he said. "If you're not out of sight by three--"

  "It'll be a pleasure, Peter," said Buregarde.

  * * * * *

  The stranger loped away on a crazy run. As he turned the corner he ranface on to one of the uniformed mercenaries of Xanabar. The mercenarycollared the stranger and took a quick inventory of the slashed righthand, the ripped clothing, and adding those to the frightened gallop hecame 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--ormaybe he doesn't know about it."

  "Don't call His Excellency's Peacekeepers 'mercenaries'!" snapped themercenary.

  "Peacekeeper," chuckled the dog. "Well listen and become wise. Dog andman, 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 helpeddog rise to the level of intelligence. But dog has one advantage. Noneof us has been intelligent long enough to really believe that dog has asoul, and those of us who do believe that also know that dog's soul isdevoted to man. Do you know about dog, Xanabian--Peacekeeper?"

  "No--"

  "Then don't force me to show you what kind of adversary intelligent dogcan be. Mere man is a pushover!"

  "Bah!"

  Buregarde loped in a mad circle around the mercenary. His Excellency'sPeacekeeper turned to stay facing the dog but found himself turning hisback on Peter. He stepped back and to one side and reached for hisheavy-duty pencil--the dog gave a low growl of warning and crouched fora leap.

  "He means it--Peacekeeper," said Peter Hawley quietly. "Draw that penciland 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 theEmpire of Xanabar with the crime of being indifferent to the welfare ofthe 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 themost effective gesture.

  "This must cease!" thundered the mercenary. "You cannot threaten HisExcellency's Peacekeepers!"

  Buregarde growled, "Slip the mercenary a crystal-cut, boss. We've got agirl to find!"

  "A girl? A Terrestrial girl?" asked the mercenary with his eyes opening.

  "The daughter of our envoy to Lonaphite. Miss Vanessa Lewis. Lastreported 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 condonesuch 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 haulthat specimen off to jail and let me go about making my own Peace withXanabar?"

  "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 thelid off."

  * * * * *

  "Still got it," said Buregarde, sniffing at the closed door but keepingone eye on the disappearing mercenary and his prisoner.

  "I've got it, too. Still fright and concern: fear of harm, concern overwhat happens next."

  "Strong?"

  "Definitely," said Peter closing his eyes and holding his breath.

  "Nothing measurable?" asked the dog after a full minute.

  "No. Too bad I was never introduced to her. I have no idea of herstrength of mind--wait!" Another minute went by in personal silence;Peter Hawley's concentration far too deep to be disturbed by the soundsof the city's spaceport slum by night. The dog backed away from the doorand took an alert position to guard Peter while the man was immersed inhis own mind. Finally Peter alerted and shook his head sadly. "I thoughtfor a moment that she'd caught me. A fleeting thought of rescue orescape, concept of freedom, flight, safety. But wish-thinking. Notcommunication. Let's go in."

  "Barge, or slink?" asked the dog.

  "Slink."

  "Have it your way," said Buregarde.

  Outside, the place looked closed. The door was solid, a plastic inimitation of bronze through which neither light nor sound passed. Thewindows were dark. But once the door was cracked, the wave of sound camepouring out along the slit of light and filled the street with echo andre-echo.

  "Slink, now," said the dog.

  "So everybody makes mistakes."

  Inside, a woman leaned over a low counter. "Check your weap ... say! Youcan't bring that animal in here!"

  Buregarde said, "He isn't bringing me. I'm here because I like it."

  The woman's eyes bugged. "What ... kind--?"

  "I am man's best friend--the noble dog of Barbarian Terra."

  "Yes ... but--"

  "Oh," said Peter airily, "we're looking for a friend."

  "Friend? Who is he?"

  "It's a she and her name is Vanessa Lewis."

  "She ain't here."

  "The dame's a liar-ess, Peter. I scent her strong."

  "We'll just take a look around," said Peter to the check girl.

  "You'll have to check your weapons."

  "I'd rather go in naked. Sorry. Not today. Weapons happen to be mybusiness today. Come on, Buregarde."

  * * * * *

  Man and dog started along the hallway warily. Buregarde said, "Anytouch?"

  "Got a faint impression of alarm, danger, call out the guards."

  "I scent violence," said the dog. "And--"

  The door at the end of the hallway opened and a big man stepped out."What's going on here?" he demanded flatly.

  The check girl said, "He wouldn't check ..."

  The big man reached for his hip pocket.

  Peter said, "Take him high!" and they plunged.

  Peter dove for the man's knees, Buregarde went in a three-stride lopelike an accordion folding and unfolding and then arched in a long leapwith his snarling fangs aimed at the man's throat. Man and dog hit himlow and high before he could open his mouth, before he could free thesnub pencil-ray. There was a short scrabble that ended when Buregardelifted the man's head and whammed it down hard against the floor.

  Weakly, the check girl finished her statement, "...His weapons!" andkeeled over in a dead faint.

  Buregarde shook himself violently and worked his jaws, licking bloodfrom his chops. Peter looked in through the open wall-door opposite thecheck counter; the racket had not been noticed by the roomful ofspac
emen and riffraff. The babble of a hundred tongues still went onamid the clink of glasses and the disturbing strains of Xanabian music.Smoke from a hundred semi-noxious weeds lay in strata across the room,and at a table in the far corner two men faced one another, theirexpressions a mixed pair. One held heavily begrudged admiration as hepaid off five hundredweight of crystal-cut in the legal tender ofXanabar to