Alak took out a cigarette and puffed it into lighting. “Go on, then,” he invited tonelessly.

“I’d like to point out a few things, that’s all.” Varris was speaking Terran; the guards waited stolidly, not understanding, their eyes restless. “I wanted to say I’m a patient man, but there’s a limit to how much persecution I’ll stand for.”

“Persecution! Who ordered the massacres at New Venus?”

Fanaticism smoldered in Varris’ eyes, but he answered quietly: “I was the legitimately chosen dictator. Under Caldonian law, I was within my rights. It was the Patrol which engineered the revolution. It’s the Patrol which now maintains a hated colonialism over my planet.”

“Yes—until such time as those hellhounds you call people have had a little sense beaten into them. If you hadn’t been stopped, there’d be more than one totally dead world by now.” Alak’s smile was wintry. “You’ll comprehend that for yourself, once we’ve normalized your psyche.”

“You can’t cleanly execute a man.” Varris paced tiger-fashion. “You have to take and twist him till everything that was holy to him has become evil and everything he despised is good. I’ll not let that happen to me.”

“You’re stuck here,” said Alak. “I know your boat is almost out of fuel. Incidentally, in case you get ideas, mine is quite thoroughly booby trapped. All I need do is holler for reinforcements. Why not surrender now and save me the trouble?”

Varris grinned. “Nice try, friend, but I’m not that stupid. If the Patrol could have sent more than you to arrest me, it would have done so. I’m staying here and gambling that a rescue party from Caldon will arrive before your ships get around to it. The odds are in my favor.”

His finger stabbed out. “Look here! By choice, I’d have my men cut you down where you stand—you and that slimy little monster. I can’t, because I have to live up to the local code of honor; they’d throw me out if I broke the least of their silly laws. But I can maintain a large enough bodyguard to prevent you from kidnapping me, as you’ve doubtless thought of doing.”

“I had given the matter some small consideration,” nodded Alak.

“There’s one other thing I can do, too. I can fight a duel with you. A duel to the death—they haven’t any other kind.”

“Well, I’m a pretty good shot.”

“They won’t allow modern weapons. The challenged party has the choice, but it’s got to be swords or axes or bows or something provided for in their law.” Varris laughed. “I’ve spent a lot of time this past year, practicing with just such arms. And I went in for fencing at home. How much training have you had?”

Alak shrugged. Not being even faintly a romantic, he had never taken much interest in archaic sports.

‘‘I’m good at thinking up nasty tricks,” he said. “Suppose I chose to fight you with clubs, only I had a switchblade concealed in mine.”