Gardner knew he was groping for rationalizations, for reasons that would justify the destruction of Lurion. Actually, it was sheer, softheadedness, of course; no reason was necessary, said Karnes, beyond that of mere-common-sense precaution. The computer said that Lurion, if left unchecked, would destroy Earth in the course of time. Therefore Earth was acting out of the most basic law of self-preservation in reaching out to destroy Lurion. It was simple precaution.
But precaution was an abstraction, and Gardner operated best from concretes. He wanted to be able to see himself as an executioner, not as a cold-blooded amoral murderer.
Okay, he thought. A world that thrives on this sort of senseless cruelty deserves everything that it’s going to get.
But the answer was dissatisfying. False piety, a mocking voice within him said.
He kept walking, stiff-legged, stiff-minded, trying not to think.
The city’s name was City, a surprising bluntness for the usually devious Lurioni. Gardner’s hotel was situated in South City. He was in North City, now.
He realized that the night was not moonless after all, but that the three tiny, splinter-sized moons had merely been obscured by the haze. Now he could make them out, dotted in vaguely equilateral triangle in the sky, looking like stray teeth that someone had hurled up into the heavens. They cast a feeble and confusing light, as Gardner made his way through the untidy streets. He wanted to walk, to keep walking in this stiff, mechanical, unthinking way, to walk the tension and fear completely out of his system. Only then, when he was calm once again, could he find a cab and return to his hotel on the other side of the city.
He had no idea which way he was going. The streets were silent now, completely empty. It was nearly two hours past midnight. The anti-fatigue tablet he had taken before coming out to meet Smee was wearing off now, and Gardner was beginning to feel tired. But he kept on walking.
He turned into a street lined on both sides with grubby little residential dwellings, illuminated only by dim glow-lights across the street, and abruptiy someone hit him from behind.
It was a light, glancing blow, and Gardner had spent a hundred hours learning how to recover almost instantly from a surprise attack. He let his left knee go limp, dissipating the force of the blow, but before he could turn, another blow descended, and this one nearly knocked him sprawling. Only his special training saved him. He took two wild staggering steps forward, halted as if about to pitch forward face-first, and managed to recover his balance. He danced two or three more steps, then turned around.
A pair of young ugly-looking Lurioni stood behind him, their long arms folded. They were grinning in happy amusement.
“Hello, Earthman,” one of them said.
They seemed to be boys, though it was hard to tell the age of a Lurioni without long practice. Gardner sized them up immediately as the local equivalent of juvenile delinquents.
They were wearing open jackets flamboyantly ornamented with strips of silk. The rain had soaked them to the skin; evidently they had been prowling in search of strangers for hours. Gardner noticed little metal needles puncturing the skin of their cheeks—a symbol of their toughness, he figured. He decided to find out exactly how tough they really were.
“W-what do you want with me?” he asked in a timid, stammering voice.
“Got any money, Earthman?”
Gardner let an expression of abject fear and utter capitulation crawl across his face. “I don’t understand. You want to rob me?”
The Lurioni boys laughed contemptuously. “Rob you? Hah! Who ever said anything about robbing you, Earthman? We wouldn’t do a cruel thing like thatl”
“Oh, well, then…”
“We just want your money!”
Gardner blinked bewilderedly. He hoped that he had successfully put over an appearance of complete futility.
“Hit him,” one of the boys whispered to the other. The smaller of the two advanced boldly toward Gardner, grinned cheerfully at him, and struck him in the stomach. Gardner tightened his stomach-muscles and rode with the blow, following the Security-taught techniques, but he allowed an agonized grunt to escape, and his face became a crumpled mask of pain.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, don’t hit me again.”
“Hand over your cash, or we’ll give you a lot more, Earthman.”
“Sure,” Gardner wheezed. “You can have my money. Just don’t hit me again,-that’s all I ask.”
He started to reach into his right-hand pocket, but the taller boy said quickly, “Uh-uh, friend. Keep your hands out of your pockets. Tell us which one the money’s in, and we’ll take it out for you.”
“It’s in the right-hand one,” Gardner said.
“Get the money,” the tall boy commanded.
Gardner poised tensely, plotting out the precise pattern of muscle stress and counter-stress that he was going to bring into play. The younger boy was slipping a hand into the Earthman’s pocket. The spidery hand closed on Gardner’s billfold and started to draw it out. Gardner counted silently; this maneuver called for perfect timing, or else he might find himself lying in the gutter with his head kicked in.
Thousand one… thousand two… thousand three… now!
Gardner turned suddenly at a right angle. The motion pulled the flap of his pocket tight shut, trapping the boy’s hand at the wrist. Gardner grabbed the imprisoned wrist, ripped the hand from the pocket, arched his back, bent his knees, and flipped.
The lightweight Lurioni went catapulting into the air heels first, described a short arc, and crashed into his companion somewhere amidships. Gardner launched himself forward and was on them the next second, taking advantage of their astonishment.
His powerful arms straddled their shoulders and he pushed them to the ground. Instantly, he had one hand clamped on each throat. He tightened his grip until they began to have trouble with their breathing. The glared up at him, a mixture of hate and terror in their cold eyes.
“I think I’ll strangle you,” Gardner remarked casually. “One with each hand.”
He increased the force of his grip on the throats, kneeling at the same time on their chests. They kicked and flailed their arms, clawing at his face desperately, but to no avail. By the dim light of the streetglows he could see their faces growing mottled. The urge to throttle them to death was strong, but Gardner resisted the easy temptation.
After a moment he released his hold on their throats. They had stopped resisting now. He rose from them; they remained on the ground, making hoarse gasping sounds. Gardner backed a step or two away from them.
“Stay right where you are until I’ve turned the corner,” Gardner ordered brusquely. “You understand me? If either of you gets up, I’ll let you both have it with my blaster.”
He patted his pocket meaningfully. The blaster was pure bluff, but they had no way of knowing that. They made no sign of moving.
He edged away, facing them, only once stealing a glance behind him to make sure that no new adversary might be sneaking up on him. The vanquished pair remained flattened against the wet pavement until Gardner had reached the end of the street.
“All right,” Gardner called to them. “You can get up now. Start running in the other direction, fast as you can.”
They rose. Gardner heard them interchange hot words; they were angry at each other for the failure of their little prank, obviously.
Suddenly the older boy produced a bright curved knife from somewhere in his jacket. The younger boy sprang backward, but not quickly enough; the tall one thrust the knife into his companion’s belly and ripped upward with a killer’s practiced hand. Gardner gasped as the tall boy coolly watched his companion crumple; then the killer turned and trotted away.