Without conscious
volition, Howell's pistol was out and he was thumbing the safety off.
The Svant stopped short, then dropped the knife, ducked his head,
and threw his arms over it to shield his comb. He backed away a few
steps, then turned and bolted into the nearest house. The others,
including the woman in the ragged tunic, were twittering in alarm.
Only the man in the leather apron was calm; he was saying,
tonelessly, "_Ghrooogh-ghrooogh_."
Luis Gofredo was coming up on the double, followed by three of
his riflemen.
"What happened, Mark? Trouble?"
"All over now." He told Gofredo what had happened. Dorver was still
objecting:
"... Social precedence; the Svant may have been right, according
to local customs."
"Local customs be damned!" Gofredo became angry. "This is a Terran
Federation handout; we make the rules, and one of them is, no
pushing people out of line. Teach the buggers that now and we won't
have to work so hard at it later." He called back over his shoulder,
"Situation under control; get the show going again.
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