The Lani People, Jesse F. Bone [best reads TXT] 📗

him that he wasn’t behaving rationally, but he disregarded it. George was a walking need for a lesson in manners.

“Don’t get the idea that I’m afraid of you—you overmuscled oaf,” Kennon snapped. “I can handle you or anyone like you. And if you put your hands on me again I’ll beat you within an inch of your worthless life.”

The Lani snarled. “Let me out and I kill you. But you are like all men. You use gun and iron—not fair fight.”

Douglas returned with a gas capsule and a set of shackles. “All right,” he said. “We’re ready for him.” He handed Kennon the shackles and a key to the cell door—and drew his Burkholtz.

“See,” the Lani growled. “It is as I say. Men are cowards.”

“You know gun?” Douglas asked as he pointed the muzzle of the Burkholtz at the Lani.

“I know,” George growled. “Gun kill.”

“It does indeed,” Douglas said. “Now get back—clear back against the wall.”

George snarled but didn’t move.

“I’ll count three,” Douglas said, “and if you’re not back by then I’ll burn you down. You’ll obey even if you won’t do anything else.—one—two—”

George retreated to the far end of his cell.

“Now face the wall.” Douglas tossed the gas capsule into the cell. The thin-walled container broke, releasing a cloud of vapor. George crumpled to the floor. “Now we wait a couple of minutes for the gas to dissipate,” Douglas said. “After that he’s all yours. You can go in and put the irons on him.”

“Will he be out long?” Kennon asked.

“About five minutes. After that he’ll have muscular control.” Douglas chuckled. “They’re stupid,” he said. “They know what gas does to them, but they never have sense enough to hold their breath. They could be twice as much trouble as they are. All right, it’s safe to go in now.” Douglas let the gun dangle in his hand.

Kennon unlocked the door.

And George rolled over, muscles bunched and driving! He hit the door with such force that Kennon was slammed against the wall, dazed—half stunned by the speed of the attack. George—he had time to think in one brief flash—wasn’t stupid. He had held his breath for the necessary two minutes!

Douglas jerked the blaster up and fired, but his target was too quick. George dropped and rolled. The sizzling streak of violet flashed inches above his body and tore a six-inch hole through the back of the cell. And then George was on him! The huge, marvelously fast hands of the humanoid wrenched the blaster out of Douglas’s hands and jerked him forward. A scream burst from Douglas as George’s hands closed around his neck. Muscles sprang into writhing life in the humanoid’s huge forearms. There was a soft, brittle crack, and Douglas sagged limp in the iron grip that held him dangling.

“Faugh!” George grunted. He dropped Douglas as Kennon pushed the door back and came out into the passageway. “Maybe you make better fight,” George said as he lowered his head into the muscular mass of his broad shoulders.

Kennon eyed him appraisingly, swinging the irons in his right hand.

This time the Lani didn’t charge. He moved slowly, half crouched, long arms held slightly forward. Kennon backed away, watching the humanoid’s eyes for that telltale flicker of the pupils that gives warning of attack. The expression on George’s face never changed. It was satisfied—smug almost—reflecting the feelings of a brute conditioned to kill and given an opportunity to do so. The Lani radiated confidence.

Kennon shivered involuntarily. He wasn’t frightened, but he had never met an opponent like this. A chill raced up the back of his legs and spread over his stomach and chest. His mouth was dry and his muscles quivered with tense anticipation. But his concentration never wavered. His hard blue eyes never left George’s, searching with microscopic intentness for the faintest sign of the Lani’s intentions.

George charged—hands reaching for Kennon’s throat, face twisted in a snarl of rage and hate. But even as he charged Kennon moved. He ducked beneath the Lani’s outstretched hands and drove his left fist deep into George’s belly just below the breastbone.

Air whistled out of the Lani’s gaping mouth as he bent double from the power of the blow. Kennon clipped him on the chin with a driving knee, snapping George’s head back and smashed the bearded face with the shackles. Blood spurted and George screamed with rage. One of the Lani’s big hands wrapped around the shackles and tugged. Kennon let go and drove another left to George’s ribs.

The Lani threw the irons at Kennon, but his aim was poor. One of the handcuff rings scraped across Kennon’s cheek, but did nothing more than break the skin. Half paralyzed by the blows to his solar plexus, George’s co-ordination was badly impaired. But he kept trying. Kennon wrapped lean fingers about one of George’s outstretched hands, bent, pivoted, and slammed the Lani with bone-crushing force against the bars of a nearby cell. But George didn’t go down. “He’s more brute than man,” Kennon thought. “No man could take a beating like that!” He moved aside from George’s stumbling rush, feeling a twinge of pity for the battered humanoid. It was no contest. Strong as he was, George didn’t know the rudiments of hand-to-hand fighting. His reactions were those of an animal, to close, clutch, bite, and tear. Even if he were completely well, the results would have been the same. It would merely have taken longer. Kennon drove a vicious judo chop to the junction of the Lani’s neck and shoulder. Brute strength was no match for the highly evolved mayhem that every spaceman learns as a necessary part of his trade. George had never been on planet leave in a spaceport town. He knew nothing about the dives, the crimps, the hostile port police. His idea of fighting was that of a beast, but Kennon was a civilized man to whom fighting was an art perfected by millennia of warfare. And Kennon knew his trade.

Even so it took longer than Kennon expected because George was big, George was strong, and George had courage and pride that kept him coming as long as the blazing will behind his blazing eyes could drive his battered body. But the end was inevitable.

Kennon looked at his bloody arm where George’s teeth had reached their mark. It was hardly more than a scratch, but it had been close. George had his lesson and Kennon felt oddly degraded. He sighed, dragged George back into the cell, and locked the door.

Then he turned to Douglas. The howls of hate from the caged Lani died to a sullen silence as Kennon gently examined the limp body.

Douglas wasn’t dead. His neck was dislocated, not broken, but he was in serious condition. Kennon was still bending over Douglas wondering how to call for help when three guards burst through the door, faces grim, weapons at the ready.

“What’s going on here?” the leader demanded. “The board showed an open door down here.” He saw the body—“Mr. Douglas!” he gasped. “The commandant will have to know about this!” He took a communicator from his waist belt and spoke rapidly into it. “Arleson