The last of the soldiers were out again, and the store was shrouded in deepening night.
"Seal the doors!"
Another few minutes and then the cans of disinfectant which had been placed in several spots on each floor were discharged at long distance. In the recesses of the building those cans were flung open and the thick vapors rolled out and curled up the walls, clinging to every square inch of surface, reaching through the air and into the inmost crannies. No protoplasm, from germ to man, could remain alive in its presence, and chemical flushing of the most painstaking type would be required eventually for decontamination.
But now the lieutenant was approaching Arvardan and Pola.
"What was his name?" There was not even cruelty in his voice, merely utter indifference. An Earthman, he thought, had been killed. Well, he had killed a fly that day also. That made two.
He received no answer, Pola bending her head meekly and Arvardan watching curiously. The Imperial officer did not take his eyes off them. He beckoned curtly. "Check them for infection."
An officer bearing the insignia of the Imperial Medical Corps approached them, and was not gentle in his investigation; His gloved hands pushed hard under their armpits and yanked at the corners of their mouths so that he might investigate the inner surfaces of their cheeks.
"No infection, Lieutenant. If they had been exposed this afternoon, the stigmata would be clearly visible by now if infection had occurred."
"Umm." Lieutenant Claudy carefully removed his globe and enjoyed the touch of "live" air, even that of Earth. He tucked the ungainly glass object into the crook of his left elbow and said harshly, "Your name, Earthie-squaw?"
The term itself was richly insulting; the tone in which it was uttered added disgrace to it, but Pola showed no sign of resentment.
"Pola Shekt, sir," she responded in a whisper.
"Your papers!"
She reached into the small pocket of her white jacket and removed the pink folder.
He took it, flared it open in the light of his pocket flash, and studied it. Then he tossed it back. It fell, fluttering, to the floor, and Pola bent quickly for it.
"Stand up," the officer ordered impatiently, and kicked the booklet out of reach. Pola, white-faced, snatched her fingers away.
Arvardan frowned and decided it was time to interfere. He said, "Say, look here, now."
The lieutenant turned on him in a flash, his lips drawn back. "What did you say, Earthie?"
Pola was between them at once. "If you please, sir, this man has nothing to do with anything that has happened today. I never saw him before-"
The lieutenant yanked her aside. "I said, What did you say, Earthie?"
Arvardan returned his stare coolly. "I said, Look here, now. And I was going to say further that I don't like the way you treat women and that I'd advise you to improve your manners."
He was far too irritated to correct the lieutenant's impression of his planetary origin.
Lieutenant Claudy smiled without humor...And where have you been brought up, Earthie? Don't you believe in saying 'sir' when you address a man? You don't know your place, do you? Well, it's been a while since I've had the pleasure of teaching the way of life to a nice big Earthie-buck. Here, how's this-"
And quickly, like the flick of a snake, his open palm was out and across Arvardan's face, back and forth, once, twice. Arvardan stepped back in surprise and then felt the roaring in his ears. His hand shot out to catch the extended arm that pecked at him. He saw the other's face twist in surprise
The muscles in his shoulders writhed easily.
The lieutenant was on the pavement with a crashing thud that sent the glass globe rolling into shattered fragments. He lay still, and Arvardan's half-smile was ferocious. He dusted his hands lightly...Any other bastard here think he can play pattycake on my face?"
But the sergeant had raised his neuronic whip'. The contact closed and there was the dim violet flash that reached out and licked at the tall archaeologist.
Every muscle in Arvardan's body stiffened in unbearable pain, and he sank slowly to his knees. Then, with total paralysis upon him, he blacked out.
When Arvardan swam out of the haze he was conscious first of all of a wash of welcome coolness on his forehead. He tried to open his eyes and found his lids reacting as if swinging on rusty hinges. He let them remain closed and, with infinitely slow jerks (each fragmentary muscular movement shooting pins through him), lifted his arm to his face.
A soft, damp towel, held by a little hand...
He forced an eye open and battled with the mist.
"Pola," he said.
There was a little cry of sudden joy. "Yes. How do you feel?"
"As if I were dead," he croaked, "without the advantage of losing pain...What happened?"
"We were carted off to the military base. The colonel's been in here. They've searched you-and I don't know what they're going to do, but-Oh, Mr. Arvardan, you shouldn't ever have struck the lieutenant. I think you broke his arm. "
A faint smile wrenched at Arvardan's face. "Good! I wish I'd broken his back."
"But resisting an Imperial officer-it's a capital offense." Her voice was a horrified whisper.
"Indeed? We'll see about that."
"Ssh. They're coming back."
Arvardan closed his eyes and relaxed. Pola's cry was faint and far-off in his ears, and when he felt the hypodermic's thrust he could not gather his muscles into motion.
And then there was the wash of wonderful soothing nonpain along his veins and nerves. His arms unknotted and his back released itself slowly from its rigid arch, settling down. He fluttered his eyelids rapidly and, with a thrust of his el. bow, sat up. "