"You hear them? Why do you talk of law to me, of a law made by men? There are higher laws. Was it not the Galactic Spirit that said: Thou shalt not stand idly by to the hurl of thy fellowman. And has he not said: Even as thou dealest with the humble and defenseless, thus shalt thou be dealt with.
"Have you not guns? Have you not a ship? And behind you is there not the Foundation? And above and all-about you is there not the Spirit that rules the universe?" He paused for breath.
And then the great outer voice of the Far Star ceased and Lieutenant Tinter was back, troubled.
"Speak!" said Mallow, shortly.
"Sir, they demand the person of Jord Parma."
"If not?"
"There are various threats, sir. It is difficult to make much out. There are so many and they seem quite mad. There is someone who says he governs the district and has police powers, but he is quite evidently not his own master."
"Master or not," shrugged Mallow, "he is the law. Tell them that if this governor, or policeman, or whatever he is, approaches the ship alone, he can have the Revered Jord Parma."
And there was suddenly a gun in his hand. He added, "I don't know what insubordination is. I have never had any experience with it. But if there's anyone here who thinks he can teach me, I'd like to teach him my antidote in return.''
The gun swiveled slowly, and rested on Twer. With an effort, the old trader's face untwisted and his hands unclenched and lowered. His breath was a harsh rasp in his nostrils.
Tinter left, and in five minutes a puny figure detached itself from the crowd. It approached slowly and hesitantly, plainly drenched in fear and apprehension. Twice it turned back, and twice the patently obvious threats of the many-headed monster urged him on.
"All right," Mallow gestured with the hand-blaster, which remained unsheathed. "Grun and Upshur, take him out."
The missionary screeched. He raised his arms and rigid fingers speared upward as the voluminous sleeves fell away to reveal the thin, veined arms. There was a momentary, tiny flash of light that came and went in a breath. Mallow blinked and gestured again, contemptuously.
The missionary's voice poured out as he struggled in the two-fold grasp, "Cursed be the traitor who abandons his fellowman to evil and to death. Deafened be the ears that are deaf to the pleadings of the helpless. Blind be the eyes that are blind to innocence. Blackened forever be the soul that consorts with blackness"
Twer clamped his hands tightly over his ears.
Mallow flipped his blaster and put it away. "Disperse," he said, evenly, "to respective stations. Maintain full vigil for six hours after dispersion of crowd. Double stations for forty-eight hours thereafter. Further instructions at that time. Twer, come with me."
They were alone in Mallow's private quarters. Mallow indicated a chair and Twer sat down. His stocky figure looked shrunken.
Mallow stared him down, sardonically. "Twer," he said, "I'm disappointed. Your three years in politics seem to have gotten you out of trader habits. Remember, I may be a democrat back at the Foundation, but there's nothing short of tyranny that can run my ship the way I want it run. I never had to pull a blaster on my men before, and I wouldn't have had to now, if you hadn't gone out of line.
"Twer, you have no official position, but you're here on my invitation, and I'll extend you every courtesy in private. However, from now on, in the presence of my officers or men, I'm 'sir,' and not 'Mallow.' And when I give an order, you'll jump faster than a third-class recruit just for luck, or I'll have you handcuffed in the sub-level even faster. Understand?"
The party-leader swallowed dryly. He said, reluctantly, "My apologies."
"Accepted! Will you shake?"
Twer's limp fingers were swallowed in Mallow's huge palm. Twer said, "My motives were good. It's difficult to send a man out to be lynched. That wobbly-kneed governor or whatever-he-was can't save him. It's murder."
"I can't help that. Frankly, the incident smelled too bad. Didn't you notice?"
"Notice what?"
"This spaceport is deep in the middle of a sleepy far section. Suddenly a missionary escapes. Where from? He comes here. Coincidence? A huge crowd gathers. From where? The nearest city of any size must be at least a hundred miles away. But they arrive in half an hour. How?"
"How?" echoed Twer.
"Well, what if the missionary were brought here and released as bait. Our friend, Revered Parma, was considerably confused. He seemed at no time to be in complete possession of his wits."
"Hard usage" murmured Twer bitterly.
"Maybe! And maybe the idea was to have us go all chivalrous and gallant, into a stupid defense of the man. He was here against the laws of Korell and the Foundation. If I withhold him, it is an act of war against Korell, and the Foundation would have no legal right to defend us."
"That that's pretty far-fetched."
The speaker blared and forestalled Mallow's answer: "Sir, official communication received."
"Submit immediately!"
The gleaming cylinder arrived in its slot with a click. Mallow opened it and shook out the silver-impregnated sheet it held. He rubbed it appreciatively between thumb and finger and said, "Teleported direct from the capital. Commdor's own stationery."
He read it in a glance and laughed shortly, "So my idea was far-fetched, was it?"
He tossed it to Twer, and added, "Half an hour after we hand back the missionary, we finally get a very polite invitation to the Commdor's august presence after seven days of previous waiting. I think we passed a test."