Gus strangled on his drink, clawed for air, wiped his eyes.
"So that's why you asked me over here. Another of your danged peace
parleys. Come and talk things over, you said. So I came."
"There's something in what she says," defended Moe. "You ring-rats been
ripping up space for a long time now. Time you growed up and settled
down. You're aiming on going over right now and pulverizing Bud. It
won't do you any good."
"I'll get a heap of satisfaction out of it," insisted Gus. "And,
besides, I'll get my injector back. Might even take a few things off
Bud's ship. Some of the parts on mine are wearing kind of thin."
Gus took another drink, glowering at Miss Perkins.
"So the government sent you out to make us respectable," he said.
"Merely to help you, Mr. Hamilton," she declared. "To turn your hatreds
into healthy competition."
"Games, eh?" said Gus. "Maybe you got something, after all. Maybe we
could fix up some kind of game...."
"Forget it, Gus," warned Moe. "If you're thinking of energy guns at
fifty paces, it's out. Miss Perkins won't stand for anything like that."
* * * * *
Gus wiped his whiskers and looked hurt. "Nothing of the sort," he
denied. "Dang it, you must think I ain't got no sportsmanship at all. I
was thinking of a real sport. A game they play back on Earth and Mars.
Read about it in my papers. Follow the teams, I do. Always wanted to
see a game, but never did."