* * * * *
Before the police could interfere, Gorb trotted over to the hulking
corpse of the Kallerian and fetched it a mighty kick.
"Wake up, you faker! Stop playing possum and stand up! You aren't
fooling anyone!"
The Ghrynians got off the huddled little assassin and tried to stop
Gorb. "Your pardon, but the dead require your respect," began one of
the lizards mildly.
Gorb whirled angrily. "Maybe the dead do--but this character isn't
dead!"
He knelt and said loudly in the Kallerian's dishlike ear, "You might
as well quit it, Heraal. Listen to this, you shamming mountain of
meat--_your mother knits doilies for the Clan Verdrokh_!"
The supposedly dead Kallerian emitted a twenty-cycle rumble that shook
the floor, and clambered to his feet, pulling the sword out of his body
and waving it in the air. Gorb leaped back nimbly, snatched up the
Stortulian's fallen blaster, and trained it neatly on the big alien's
throat before he could do any damage. The Kallerian grumbled and
lowered his sword.
I felt groggy. I thought I knew plenty about non-terrestrial
life-forms, but I was learning a few things today. "I don't understand.
How--"
The police were blue with chagrin. "A thousand pardons, Earthman. There
seems to have been some error."
"There seems to have been a cute little con game," Gorb remarked
quietly.
I recovered my balance. "Try to milk me of a hundred grand when
there's been no crime?" I snapped. "I'll say there's been an error!
If I weren't a forgiving man, I'd clap the bunch of you in jail for
attempting to defraud an Earthman! Get out of here! And take that
would-be murderer with you!"
They got, and they got fast, burbling apologies as they went. They had
tried to fox an Earthman, and that's a dangerous sport. They dragged
the cocooned form of the Stortulian with them. The air seemed to clear,
and peace was restored. I signaled to Auchinleck and he slammed the
door.
"All right." I looked at Gorb and jerked a thumb at the Kallerian.
"That's a nice trick. How does it work?"
* * * * *
Gorb smiled pleasantly. He was enjoying this, I could see. "Kallerians
of the Clan Gursdrinn specialize in a kind of mental discipline,
Corrigan. It isn't too widely known in this area of the Galaxy, but
men of that clan have unusual mental control over their bodies. They
can cut off circulation and nervous-system response in large chunks of
their bodies for hours at a stretch--an absolutely perfect imitation of
death. And, of course, when Heraal put the sword through himself, it
was a simple matter to avoid hitting any vital organs en route."
The Kallerian, still at gunpoint, hung his head in shame. I turned on
him. "So--try to swindle me, eh? You cooked this whole fake suicide up
in collusion with those cops."
He looked quite a sight, with that gaping slash running clear through
his body. But the wound had begun to heal already. "I regret the
incident, Earthman. I am mortified. Be good enough to destroy this
unworthy person."
It was a tempting idea, but a notion was forming in my showman's mind.
"No, I won't destroy you. Tell me--how often can you do that trick?"
"The tissues will regenerate in a few hours."
"Would you mind having to kill yourself every day, Heraal? And twice on
Sundays?"