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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23884-h.zip b/23884-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ff5082 --- /dev/null +++ b/23884-h.zip diff --git a/23884-h/23884-h.htm b/23884-h/23884-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..06bdcc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/23884-h/23884-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1166 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of History Repeats, by George O. Smith. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of History Repeats, by George Oliver Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: History Repeats + +Author: George Oliver Smith + +Illustrator: Martinez + +Release Date: December 17, 2007 [EBook #23884] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY REPEATS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Greg Bergquist, Bruce Albrecht and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h2>Transcriber's Note:</h2> + + <blockquote><p>This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> May + 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p></blockquote> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/asf195905080i.png" width="600" height="578" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1><big><b>HISTORY REPEATS</b></big></h1> + +<h3>Illustrated by Martinez</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 597px;"> +<img src="images/asf195905081i.png" width="597" height="559" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>BY GEORGE O. SMITH</h2> + +<p><i>There are—and very probably +will always be—some Terrestrials +who can't, and for +that matter don't want, to call +their souls their own....</i></p> + + +<p>Xanabar lays across the Spiral Arm, a sprawling sphere of influence +vast, mighty, solid at the core. Only the far-flung boundary shows the +slight ebb and flow of contingent cultures that may win a system or two +today and lose them back tomorrow or a hundred years from now. Xanabar +is the trading post of the galaxy, for only Xanabar is strong enough to +stand over the trading table when belligerents meet and offer to take +them both at once if they do not sheathe their swords. For this service +Xanabar assesses her percentage, therefore Xanabar is rich. Her riches +buy her mercenaries to enforce her doctrines. Therefore Xanabar is +rotten at the under-core, for mercenaries have no god but gold.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The clatter of a hundred tongues mingled with the clink of glasses and +floated through strata of smoke from the burning weeds of a hundred +planets. From one of the tables, voices rise in mild disagreement. There +is a jeering laugh from one side and a roar of anger from the other. Two +men rise and face one another ready to follow their insults with +violence. Before the eruption can start, a mercenary steps forward on +lithe feet and lightly catches the back-swung arm, a quick hand removes +the poised glass before it can be thrown into the adversary's face.</p> + +<p>"Sit!" says the mercenary in a cold voice, and they sit still glaring at +one another.</p> + +<p>"Now," says the mercenary, "settle your differences by talk. Or depart +in opposite directions. This is Xanabar!"</p> + +<p>"He lies! He brags!"</p> + +<p>"I do not lie. They <i>are</i> barbarians. I do not brag. I <i>can</i> bring you +one."</p> + +<p>"You—"</p> + +<p>"A wager," said the mercenary. "A wager. Xanabar can take no tax in +blood." He faces one. "You claim you can do that which he says you can +not." Then not waiting for a reply he faces the other, "And if he does, +how much are you willing to pay?"</p> + +<p>"How much is his life worth?"</p> + +<p>"How much are you willing to pay?" demands the mercenary coldly.</p> + +<p>"Five hundredweight in crystal-cut."</p> + +<p>"An honorable sum. Do you agree?"</p> + +<p>"Not enough—"</p> + +<p>"For a task as easy as you claim it to be," said the mercenary, "Five +hundredweight of crystal-cut seems honorable."</p> + +<p>"But it means—"</p> + +<p>"We in Xanabar are not interested in the details. Only in the tax. An +honest wager-contract, outlanders. Otherwise I rule that your eruption +here disturbed the peace."</p> + +<p>The two outlanders look at one another; schoolboys caught fighting in +the alley by a monitor who demands a bite of their apple in lieu of a +visit to the principal. As if loath to touch one another they reach +forward hesitantly and handshake in a quick light grip.</p> + +<p>"Good!" glows the mercenary. He waves a hand and his fellows converge +with contract-platen and etching stylus. "Now, gentlemen, please state +the terms for Xanabar."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Peter Hawley strolled down a side street with a dog at his heel. It was +a dog of many breeds, but not a mixture of careless parentage. Peter +paused at a cross-street and looked uncertainly to left and right. "What +do you make, Buregarde?"</p> + +<p>"The noble dog says right," replied Buregarde.</p> + +<p>"Right," said Peter turning up the street. "And stop this 'Noble dog' +routine."</p> + +<p>"Man is dog's best friend," said Buregarde. "If you'd called me +something sensible, I wouldn't have looked it up. There is a statue to +me in the Okeefenokee back on Earth. I am the noble dog. Pogo says so."</p> + +<p>"I—"</p> + +<p>"Easy Peter!" said the dog in a near-whisper.</p> + +<p>"All right. Do we play down the chatter?"</p> + +<p>Buregarde sat, lifted his nose and sniffed. His natural voice gave a +faint whine of discontent. "I'm supposed to have a nose," he complained. +"This is like trying to smell out a lone mouse in a zoological garden in +midsummer."</p> + +<p>"Why the warning?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"All races smell the same when they are poised for violence," said the +dog. "Trouble is that man-smell isn't pointed the way it's going, only +where it's coming from."</p> + +<p>Peter grunted. "Catch any woman-smell?"</p> + +<p>"Just the usual whiff. Stale scent. She was here; she passed this way. +But which way?"</p> + +<p>"We can guess they made it away from the spaceport."</p> + +<p>"Unless," said the dog taking another sniff of the air, "they're taking +her back to some other spacecraft." Buregarde looked up at Peter. "Do +you catch anything?"</p> + +<p>"Just the usual mingled fright and danger, frantic despair."</p> + +<p>"Directional?"</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head. "No," he said. "The source is too close."</p> + +<p>"Let's stroll up this street to the end and come back on the other +side," said the dog. "Quietly."</p> + +<p>In a saunter they went, alert and poised. A man and his dog from all +appearances. But in Xanabar, the principal city of Xanabar the Empire +they were huntsman and companion.</p> + +<p>Like all cities of more than ten million souls, Xanabar had its +glistening and lofty area and its slums—and what would have been a +waterfront region in a seafaring city. The conditions were the same as +they'd been everywhere for a few decades of thousands of years. Only the +technology changes. Man's cave is stainless steel and synthetic plastic; +the cave's man is swinging a better axe, and his hide is protected from +the weather by stuff far more durable than his awn skin. But he's the +same man with the same hackles; they just rise for a few more thousand +reasons than the hackles of his ancestors.</p> + +<p>"Got it!" said Buregarde coming to a brief point at a closed door.</p> + +<p>"Let's go in!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Buregarde's reply was half-snarl and half, "Look out!"</p> + +<p>Peter whirled to catch a glimpse of a man upon him with pencil-ray +coming to point. He faded down and toward the other, almost in a fall +out of the path of the pencil-ray that flicked on and began a sweep +upward and in. Peter caught his balance at the same time he clutched the +wrist in his right hand. Then he went on down around and over, rising on +his knees to flip the other man heels high in an arc that ended with a +full-length, spine-thudding body smash on the pavement. Buregarde leaped +in and slashed at the hand clutching the pencil-ray, snapped his head +back and forth thrice and sent the weapon flying. Then with a savage +growl he set a soft mouth against the other's throat and let the man +feel the pressure of his fangs.</p> + +<p>"Easy," said Peter.</p> + +<p>Buregarde backed away a few inches. "Easy nothing," he snapped. "This +man is the noble dog's worst enemy. He wanted your blood."</p> + +<p>"Take it easy. I want his information."</p> + +<p>The man looked up. "Barbarian Terrestrial!" he snarled.</p> + +<p>Peter sneered. "And this is the capital city of the glorious +civilization called Xanabar? Marble palaces with nobles of the blood, +and stinking alleys with human rats. Where is she?"</p> + +<p>The stranger spat.</p> + +<p>"Buregarde, want some red meat?"</p> + +<p>"He'd make me upchuck. Only rodents eat their own kind."</p> + +<p>"Just a bite?"</p> + +<p>"Do I have to swallow?"</p> + +<p>"No. Just slash—"</p> + +<p>"Wait, barbarian—"</p> + +<p>"Barbarian Terrestrial, am I? You were maybe going to invite me for tea +and cakes with that pencil-ray?"</p> + +<p>"I—"</p> + +<p>"Talk!" snapped Peter. "Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Buregarde—?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, boss. The throat or the other hand?"</p> + +<p>"All right—for the good it'll do you. She's in there. Go on in—and +we'll have two of you!"</p> + +<p>Buregarde growled, "Three of us. And we might be hard to handle."</p> + +<p>Peter stood up and hauled the stranger to his feet. His right hand +dripped blood from the dog's teeth. Peter looked for, and found the +pencil-ray smashed against the stone front of the building. He cuffed +the stranger across the face, turned him around, and pointed him toward +the far corner.</p> + +<p>"I count three," he said. "If you're not out of sight by three—"</p> + +<p>"It'll be a pleasure, Peter," said Buregarde.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The stranger loped away on a crazy run. As he turned the corner he ran +face on to one of the uniformed mercenaries of Xanabar. The mercenary +collared the stranger and took a quick inventory of the slashed right +hand, the ripped clothing, and adding those to the frightened gallop he +came back with the stranger's left arm held in a backlock.</p> + +<p>Haughtily he demanded, "What goes on in Xanabar?"</p> + +<p>Peter eyed the mercenary sourly. "Kidnaping and attempted murder."</p> + +<p>"Who says such lawlessness runs rife in Xanabar?"</p> + +<p>"I say so. Peter Hawley of the Extraterrestrial Service. I say so."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, barbarian."</p> + +<p>"I say so," said Buregarde.</p> + +<p>"You're an animal."</p> + +<p>"I am—and so are you."</p> + +<p>"I'll not be insulted by an animal! I am—"</p> + +<p>"Take it easy, Buregarde."</p> + +<p>"Take it easy nothing. This mercenary foot-soldier forgets one thing—or +maybe he doesn't know about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't call His Excellency's Peacekeepers 'mercenaries'!" snapped the +mercenary.</p> + +<p>"Peacekeeper," chuckled the dog. "Well listen and become wise. Dog and +man, man and dog, have been together for about a half-million years. +Once dog helped man in war and peace, and man gave dog food and shelter. +Dog helped man rise above the level of the savage, and man has helped +dog rise to the level of intelligence. But dog has one advantage. None +of us has been intelligent long enough to really believe that dog has a +soul, and those of us who do believe that also know that dog's soul is +devoted to man. Do you know about dog, Xanabian—Peacekeeper?"</p> + +<p>"No—"</p> + +<p>"Then don't force me to show you what kind of adversary intelligent dog +can be. Mere man is a pushover!"</p> + +<p>"Bah!"</p> + +<p>Buregarde loped in a mad circle around the mercenary. His Excellency's +Peacekeeper turned to stay facing the dog but found himself turning his +back on Peter. He stepped back and to one side and reached for his +heavy-duty pencil—the dog gave a low growl of warning and crouched for +a leap.</p> + +<p>"He means it—Peacekeeper," said Peter Hawley quietly. "Draw that pencil +and he'll have your hand in ribbons before you can level it."</p> + +<p>The mercenary drew in his breath.</p> + +<p>"Whistle for help and he'll have your throat."</p> + +<p>"I shall not permit this high handed—"</p> + +<p>"Then stop sounding off and listen to us!" snapped Peter. "I charge the +Empire of Xanabar with the crime of being indifferent to the welfare of +the stranger within her gate. I charge kidnaping and attempted murder, +and I charge the latter against the specimen you hold in your hand."</p> + +<p>"An outlander!"</p> + +<p>"Does he bring his own law to Xanabar? If he does, then so do I!"</p> + +<p>"I arrest you all for breaking the Peace of Xanabar."</p> + +<p>"Me, too?" asked Buregarde.</p> + +<p>The mercenary ignored the dog's eager sally. "You are armed, +Terrestrial."</p> + +<p>"So was he."</p> + +<p>"So am I!" snarled Buregarde showing a fine set of white fangs in the +most effective gesture.</p> + +<p>"This must cease!" thundered the mercenary. "You cannot threaten His +Excellency's Peacekeepers!"</p> + +<p>Buregarde growled, "Slip the mercenary a crystal-cut, boss. We've got a +girl to find!"</p> + +<p>"A girl? A Terrestrial girl?" asked the mercenary with his eyes opening.</p> + +<p>"The daughter of our envoy to Lonaphite. Miss Vanessa Lewis. Last +reported in her stateroom aboard the Terrestrial Spacecraft <i>Polaris</i> +during landing pattern at Xanabar Citadel Spaceport."</p> + +<p>The mercenary said, "The work of outlanders—riffraff such as this!"</p> + +<p>"Well," snapped Peter Hawley, "do His Excellency's Peacemakers condone +such goings-on?"</p> + +<p>"We keep the Peace of Xanabar. Your charge is your word, Terrestrial."</p> + +<p>"Terrestrial Barbarian, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I arrest you—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, stop it. For fiveweight of crystal-cut can you be bribed to haul +that specimen off to jail and let me go about making my own Peace with +Xanabar?"</p> + +<p>"You accuse me of accepting bribes?"</p> + +<p>"You re a mercenary, aren't you? Sevenweight of crystal-cut."</p> + +<p>"Ten."</p> + +<p>"Seven," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"Ten," said the mercenary, "and you have one more caper coming."</p> + +<p>"Ten," agreed Peter Hawley, "and you look the other way when I take the +lid off."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Still got it," said Buregarde, sniffing at the closed door but keeping +one eye on the disappearing mercenary and his prisoner.</p> + +<p>"I've got it, too. Still fright and concern: fear of harm, concern over +what happens next."</p> + +<p>"Strong?"</p> + +<p>"Definitely," said Peter closing his eyes and holding his breath.</p> + +<p>"Nothing measurable?" asked the dog after a full minute.</p> + +<p>"No. Too bad I was never introduced to her. I have no idea of her +strength of mind—wait!" Another minute went by in personal silence; +Peter Hawley's concentration far too deep to be disturbed by the sounds +of the city's spaceport slum by night. The dog backed away from the door +and took an alert position to guard Peter while the man was immersed in +his own mind. Finally Peter alerted and shook his head sadly. "I thought +for a moment that she'd caught me. A fleeting thought of rescue or +escape, concept of freedom, flight, safety. But wish-thinking. Not +communication. Let's go in."</p> + +<p>"Barge, or slink?" asked the dog.</p> + +<p>"Slink."</p> + +<p>"Have it your way," said Buregarde.</p> + +<p>Outside, the place looked closed. The door was solid, a plastic in +imitation of bronze through which neither light nor sound passed. The +windows were dark. But once the door was cracked, the wave of sound came +pouring out along the slit of light and filled the street with echo and +re-echo.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 614px;"> +<img src="images/asf195905087i.png" width="614" height="382" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Slink, now," said the dog.</p> + +<p>"So everybody makes mistakes."</p> + +<p>Inside, a woman leaned over a low counter. "Check your weap ... say! You +can't bring that animal in here!"</p> + +<p>Buregarde said, "He isn't bringing me. I'm here because I like it."</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes bugged. "What ... kind—?"</p> + +<p>"I am man's best friend—the noble dog of Barbarian Terra."</p> + +<p>"Yes ... but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Peter airily, "we're looking for a friend."</p> + +<p>"Friend? Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"It's a she and her name is Vanessa Lewis."</p> + +<p>"She ain't here."</p> + +<p>"The dame's a liar-ess, Peter. I scent her strong."</p> + +<p>"We'll just take a look around," said Peter to the check girl.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to check your weapons."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather go in naked. Sorry. Not today. Weapons happen to be my +business today. Come on, Buregarde."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Man and dog started along the hallway warily. Buregarde said, "Any +touch?"</p> + +<p>"Got a faint impression of alarm, danger, call out the guards."</p> + +<p>"I scent violence," said the dog. "And—"</p> + +<p>The door at the end of the hallway opened and a big man stepped out. +"What's going on here?" he demanded flatly.</p> + +<p>The check girl said, "He wouldn't check ..."</p> + +<p>The big man reached for his hip pocket.</p> + +<p>Peter said, "Take him high!" and they plunged.</p> + +<p>Peter dove for the man's knees, Buregarde went in a three-stride lope +like an accordion folding and unfolding and then arched in a long leap +with his snarling fangs aimed at the man's throat. Man and dog hit him +low and high before he could open his mouth, before he could free the +snub pencil-ray. There was a short scrabble that ended when Buregarde +lifted the man's head and whammed it down hard against the floor.</p> + +<p>Weakly, the check girl finished her statement, "... His weapons!" and +keeled over in a dead faint.</p> + +<p>Buregarde shook himself violently and worked his jaws, licking blood +from his chops. Peter looked in through the open wall-door opposite the +check counter; the racket had not been noticed by the roomful of +spacemen and riffraff. The babble of a hundred tongues still went on +amid the clink of glasses and the disturbing strains of Xanabian music. +Smoke from a hundred semi-noxious weeds lay in strata across the room, +and at a table in the far corner two men faced one another, their +expressions a mixed pair. One held heavily begrudged admiration as he +paid off five hundredweight of crystal-cut in the legal tender of +Xanabar to the other, whose expression was greedy self-confidence. One +of His Excellency's Peacekeepers presided over the exchange. Coldly he +extracted a fiftyweight from the pile and folded it into the signed and +completed wager-contract. For his own coffer he extracted a fiveweight +and slipped it into his boot top.</p> + +<p>Peter Hawley and Buregarde passed on, went through the far door dragging +their late adversary ignominiously by the heels. Amid the lessened +publicity of the distant hall, Peter checked the man and shrugged. "He +may live," he said coldly, "if he doesn't bleed to death."</p> + +<p>"You really ought to take 'em on the high side," said Buregarde, +plaintively. "All I've got is my teeth to grab with. They don't bleed so +bad from the ankle."</p> + +<p>"They don't stay stopped that way either," said Peter harshly.</p> + +<p>"You'd not be getting any praise from the Chief for that sort of +brutality."</p> + +<p>"If Xanabar weren't rotten to the core, we wouldn't be plowing through +it in the first place. Now, let's get going."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't you call for the rest of the crew?"</p> + +<p>"Not until I'm certain the girl's here. I'd hate to cut the city-wide +search for cold evidence."</p> + +<p>"She's here. I scent her."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it's past tense, Buregarde. Or maybe it's another woman."</p> + +<p>"Could be. But one thing: It is definitely Terrestrial woman." The dog +sniffed again. "You get anything?"</p> + +<p>"No more than before. It's close and they're the same set of impressions +Yet, any woman would be frantic with fear and concern."</p> + +<p>"I ...<i> shhh</i>!" Buregarde's sharp ears lifted instinctively at a distant +sound not heard by the man. With a toss of his head, the dog folded one +ear back, uncovering the inner shell. Like a sonic direction finder, +Buregarde turned his head and listened.</p> + +<p>"Man," he said finally with a low growling voice. "Peter, there'll be +hell to pay around here directly. He's stumbled over our recent +conquest."</p> + +<p>"Let's get cutting!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Peter started trying doors and peering in; the dog raced on ahead of the +man, sniffing deep at the bottom of each. It was the dog that found the +room. He called, "Here!" and Peter raced forward just as the fellow on +the stairs yelled something in his native tongue.</p> + +<p>Peter hit the door with the heel of his foot and slammed it open by +splintering the doorframe. The dog crouched low and poised; Peter +slipped in and around feeling for a light-switch. From inside there was +a voiceless whimper of fright and from outside and below there came the +pounding of several sets of heavy feet. Peter found the switch and +flooded the room with light. The girl—whether she was Miss Vanessa +Lewis or someone else, and kidnap-wise it was still a Terrestrial +girl—lay trussed on the bed, a patch of surgical tape over her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," said Peter in a voice that he hoped was soothing. He reached, +freed a corner of the tape and ripped it off in a single swipe. The girl +howled. Peter slapped her lightly. "Stop it!" he commanded sharply. +"Vanessa Lewis?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—"</p> + +<p>"Call out the marines, Peter," snarled the dog.</p> + +<p>"No! Bo! Back!"</p> + +<p>Reluctantly the dog backed into the room. He crouched low, poised to +spring, with his nose just beyond the doorframe.</p> + +<p>"Four of 'em," he whimpered pleadingly. "I can get two—"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't get the other two unless I'm lucky," snapped Peter. +"Don't be so eager to die for nothing, Buregarde."</p> + +<p>"All this calculation," grumbled the dog sourly. "I don't call it a loss +if I get two for one."</p> + +<p>"I call it a loss if I don't get four for nothing—or the whole damned +Empire of Xanabar for nothing, for that matter. We've a job to do and it +ain't dying—until Miss Lewis is out of this glorious citadel."</p> + +<p>The girl looked from one to the other. They did not need any +identification; they were their own bona fides. Only man—Terrestrial +Man—had intelligent dogs to work beside him. Period, question closed. +Buregarde snarled at the door warningly while Peter stripped surgical +tape from wrists and ankles.</p> + +<p>Outside, someone called, "Come out or we blast!"</p> + +<p>Buregarde snarled, "Come in and we'll cut you to bits!"</p> + +<p>The quick flash of a pencil-ray flicked in a lance above the dog's nose: +Buregarde snapped back as the lancet of light cut downward, then snapped +forward for a quick look outside as the little pencil of danger +flickered dark.</p> + +<p>"Careful, Bo!"</p> + +<p>"You call the boys," snapped the dog. "I'll—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Something came twisting forward to hit the doorframe, it dropped just +inside the doorjamb. Buregarde leaped, snapped at the thing and caught +it in midair, snapped his head in a vicious shake and sent it whirling +back outside again before it could be identified. The dog sunfished and +landed on all four. Then the thing went off with a dull <i>pouf</i>! outside. +There was a gentle flash of quick light that was smothered by a billow +of smoke. Buregarde leaped into the cloud and disappeared. There was a +hoarse shriek and the mad scrabble of dog-claws on the hard floor, the +sound of a heavy thud, and the angry snarl of a dog with its teeth +fastened into something soft. Then there was the fast patter of dog-feet +and Buregarde came around the door on a dead run, sliding side-wise to +carom off the opened door into safety just as a pencil-ray flicked to +follow him.</p> + +<p>"Got him," said the dog in a satisfied tone. "That's one!"</p> + +<p>He took his post by the doorframe again, the tip of his nose just +outside. There was a consultation out there in the hallway, at which +Buregarde called, "Make a wild rush for us!"</p> + +<p>Miss Lewis said, "What are we going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Fight it out," said Peter. "They can't win so long as we're alive now. +I've got my crew on its way in a dead run, and if we make enough noise, +some of His Excellency's Peacemakers will step in and demand their cut +of the finances." He grinned. "How much are you worth, Miss Lewis?"</p> + +<p>She shuddered. "I don't know how much father would pay—"</p> + +<p>"Hit 'em low, Peter!" came Buregarde's snarl.</p> + +<p>Three of them came in a-slant, bounced shoulders against the opened +door, caught their bearings and hell was out for noon. Buregarde caught +the first with a slash at the throat; they went down in a mad whirl of +dog and thug, paws, tail, arms, legs and a spurt of blood. The second +flicked his pencil-ray at Peter, its capsule charge faded to a mere +sting before it cut into him. The third aimed a kick at the struggling +dog. Vanessa Lewis snatched a box from the bureau and hurled it at the +second. Peter thumbed his pencil-ray and winged the third man in the +biceps. Buregarde leaped for the second man's gun hand and closed on it +as the hurled box opened and scatter-shotted his face with bric-a-brac. +The man with the bloody throat flailed out and caught Peter by the +ankle. Peter stomped his face with his other heel. Miss Lewis picked up +the table lamp and with a single motion turned off the light and +finished felling the one with the ray-burned shoulder.</p> + +<p>Buregarde dropped from the second man's wrist and crouched to spring. +The man cowered back, his good arm covering his throat and his other arm +hanging limp. He mouthed fright-noises in some tongue native to some +star a thousand light-years across the galaxy.</p> + +<p>Coldly, Peter stepped forward and belted him in the plexus.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said calmly, "we shall vacate the premises!"</p> + +<p>They went side by side, facing slightly outward, Buregarde between them +and slightly ahead. "We're coming out!" called the dog. "Three +Barbarians from Terra!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Down on the dark street, they met their mercenary again. He eyed them +sourly. "I see you were, in a sense, successful."</p> + +<p>Peter Hawley faced the mercenary. "We were successful and would you like +to make something of it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have to arrest you, you know."</p> + +<p>"You'll lose an arm trying!" snapped the dog.</p> + +<p>"There's murder been committed tonight," said His Excellency's +Peacemaker. "The Peace of Xanabar has been disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Why you chiseling crook, there's been kidnaping tonight, and—"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that I shall have to ask that the young lady produce her +passport," said the mercenary. "Otherwise she's in Xanabar Citadel +illegally."</p> + +<p>Buregarde said, "Hit him low, Peter. Here come the boys."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Just once—for fun?"</p> + +<p>"No. I want our money-grubbing Peacekeeper to carry a message to His +Excellency. I want His Excellency to read some Terrestrial History. Once +upon a time there was a place called the Byzantine Empire that laid +across the trade routes. The upper crust of people used to serve the +Presence of God in a golden throne whilst their underlings dealt in +human slaves and procured comely concubines for the emperor; their +policemen took bribes and human life was cheap. And when Byzantium fell, +all the world was forced to seek a new trade route. So tell His +Excellency that he'd better clean up his own foul mess, or some +barbarians will clean it up for him."</p> + +<p>"And that," said Buregarde, "goes for your dad-ratted cat!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 506px;"> +<img src="images/asf195905091i.png" width="506" height="244" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History Repeats, by George Oliver Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY REPEATS *** + +***** This file should be named 23884-h.htm or 23884-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/8/8/23884/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Greg Bergquist, Bruce Albrecht and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: History Repeats + +Author: George Oliver Smith + +Illustrator: Martinez + +Release Date: December 17, 2007 [EBook #23884] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY REPEATS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Greg Bergquist, Bruce Albrecht and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ May + 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + +[Illustration] + +HISTORY REPEATS + +Illustrated by Martinez + +[Illustration] + +BY GEORGE O. SMITH + +_There are--and very probably +will always be--some Terrestrials +who can't, and for +that matter don't want, to call +their souls their own...._ + + +Xanabar lays across the Spiral Arm, a sprawling sphere of influence +vast, mighty, solid at the core. Only the far-flung boundary shows the +slight ebb and flow of contingent cultures that may win a system or two +today and lose them back tomorrow or a hundred years from now. Xanabar +is the trading post of the galaxy, for only Xanabar is strong enough to +stand over the trading table when belligerents meet and offer to take +them both at once if they do not sheathe their swords. For this service +Xanabar assesses her percentage, therefore Xanabar is rich. Her riches +buy her mercenaries to enforce her doctrines. Therefore Xanabar is +rotten at the under-core, for mercenaries have no god but gold. + + * * * * * + +The clatter of a hundred tongues mingled with the clink of glasses and +floated through strata of smoke from the burning weeds of a hundred +planets. From one of the tables, voices rise in mild disagreement. There +is a jeering laugh from one side and a roar of anger from the other. Two +men rise and face one another ready to follow their insults with +violence. Before the eruption can start, a mercenary steps forward on +lithe feet and lightly catches the back-swung arm, a quick hand removes +the poised glass before it can be thrown into the adversary's face. + +"Sit!" says the mercenary in a cold voice, and they sit still glaring at +one another. + +"Now," says the mercenary, "settle your differences by talk. Or depart +in opposite directions. This is Xanabar!" + +"He lies! He brags!" + +"I do not lie. They _are_ barbarians. I do not brag. I _can_ bring you +one." + +"You--" + +"A wager," said the mercenary. "A wager. Xanabar can take no tax in +blood." He faces one. "You claim you can do that which he says you can +not." Then not waiting for a reply he faces the other, "And if he does, +how much are you willing to pay?" + +"How much is his life worth?" + +"How much are you willing to pay?" demands the mercenary coldly. + +"Five hundredweight in crystal-cut." + +"An honorable sum. Do you agree?" + +"Not enough--" + +"For a task as easy as you claim it to be," said the mercenary, "Five +hundredweight of crystal-cut seems honorable." + +"But it means--" + +"We in Xanabar are not interested in the details. Only in the tax. An +honest wager-contract, outlanders. Otherwise I rule that your eruption +here disturbed the peace." + +The two outlanders look at one another; schoolboys caught fighting in +the alley by a monitor who demands a bite of their apple in lieu of a +visit to the principal. As if loath to touch one another they reach +forward hesitantly and handshake in a quick light grip. + +"Good!" glows the mercenary. He waves a hand and his fellows converge +with contract-platen and etching stylus. "Now, gentlemen, please state +the terms for Xanabar." + + * * * * * + +Peter Hawley strolled down a side street with a dog at his heel. It was +a dog of many breeds, but not a mixture of careless parentage. Peter +paused at a cross-street and looked uncertainly to left and right. "What +do you make, Buregarde?" + +"The noble dog says right," replied Buregarde. + +"Right," said Peter turning up the street. "And stop this 'Noble dog' +routine." + +"Man is dog's best friend," said Buregarde. "If you'd called me +something sensible, I wouldn't have looked it up. There is a statue to +me in the Okeefenokee back on Earth. I am the noble dog. Pogo says so." + +"I--" + +"Easy Peter!" said the dog in a near-whisper. + +"All right. Do we play down the chatter?" + +Buregarde sat, lifted his nose and sniffed. His natural voice gave a +faint whine of discontent. "I'm supposed to have a nose," he complained. +"This is like trying to smell out a lone mouse in a zoological garden in +midsummer." + +"Why the warning?" asked Peter. + +"All races smell the same when they are poised for violence," said the +dog. "Trouble is that man-smell isn't pointed the way it's going, only +where it's coming from." + +Peter grunted. "Catch any woman-smell?" + +"Just the usual whiff. Stale scent. She was here; she passed this way. +But which way?" + +"We can guess they made it away from the spaceport." + +"Unless," said the dog taking another sniff of the air, "they're taking +her back to some other spacecraft." Buregarde looked up at Peter. "Do +you catch anything?" + +"Just the usual mingled fright and danger, frantic despair." + +"Directional?" + +Peter shook his head. "No," he said. "The source is too close." + +"Let's stroll up this street to the end and come back on the other +side," said the dog. "Quietly." + +In a saunter they went, alert and poised. A man and his dog from all +appearances. But in Xanabar, the principal city of Xanabar the Empire +they were huntsman and companion. + +Like all cities of more than ten million souls, Xanabar had its +glistening and lofty area and its slums--and what would have been a +waterfront region in a seafaring city. The conditions were the same as +they'd been everywhere for a few decades of thousands of years. Only the +technology changes. Man's cave is stainless steel and synthetic plastic; +the cave's man is swinging a better axe, and his hide is protected from +the weather by stuff far more durable than his awn skin. But he's the +same man with the same hackles; they just rise for a few more thousand +reasons than the hackles of his ancestors. + +"Got it!" said Buregarde coming to a brief point at a closed door. + +"Let's go in!" + + * * * * * + +Buregarde's reply was half-snarl and half, "Look out!" + +Peter whirled to catch a glimpse of a man upon him with pencil-ray +coming to point. He faded down and toward the other, almost in a fall +out of the path of the pencil-ray that flicked on and began a sweep +upward and in. Peter caught his balance at the same time he clutched the +wrist in his right hand. Then he went on down around and over, rising on +his knees to flip the other man heels high in an arc that ended with a +full-length, spine-thudding body smash on the pavement. Buregarde leaped +in and slashed at the hand clutching the pencil-ray, snapped his head +back and forth thrice and sent the weapon flying. Then with a savage +growl he set a soft mouth against the other's throat and let the man +feel the pressure of his fangs. + +"Easy," said Peter. + +Buregarde backed away a few inches. "Easy nothing," he snapped. "This +man is the noble dog's worst enemy. He wanted your blood." + +"Take it easy. I want his information." + +The man looked up. "Barbarian Terrestrial!" he snarled. + +Peter sneered. "And this is the capital city of the glorious +civilization called Xanabar? Marble palaces with nobles of the blood, +and stinking alleys with human rats. Where is she?" + +The stranger spat. + +"Buregarde, want some red meat?" + +"He'd make me upchuck. Only rodents eat their own kind." + +"Just a bite?" + +"Do I have to swallow?" + +"No. Just slash--" + +"Wait, barbarian--" + +"Barbarian Terrestrial, am I? You were maybe going to invite me for tea +and cakes with that pencil-ray?" + +"I--" + +"Talk!" snapped Peter. "Where is she?" + +"Who?" + +"Buregarde--?" + +"Yes, boss. The throat or the other hand?" + +"All right--for the good it'll do you. She's in there. Go on in--and +we'll have two of you!" + +Buregarde growled, "Three of us. And we might be hard to handle." + +Peter stood up and hauled the stranger to his feet. His right hand +dripped blood from the dog's teeth. Peter looked for, and found the +pencil-ray smashed against the stone front of the building. He cuffed +the stranger across the face, turned him around, and pointed him toward +the far corner. + +"I count three," he said. "If you're not out of sight by three--" + +"It'll be a pleasure, Peter," said Buregarde. + + * * * * * + +The stranger loped away on a crazy run. As he turned the corner he ran +face on to one of the uniformed mercenaries of Xanabar. The mercenary +collared the stranger and took a quick inventory of the slashed right +hand, the ripped clothing, and adding those to the frightened gallop he +came back with the stranger's left arm held in a backlock. + +Haughtily he demanded, "What goes on in Xanabar?" + +Peter eyed the mercenary sourly. "Kidnaping and attempted murder." + +"Who says such lawlessness runs rife in Xanabar?" + +"I say so. Peter Hawley of the Extraterrestrial Service. I say so." + +"You are mistaken, barbarian." + +"I say so," said Buregarde. + +"You're an animal." + +"I am--and so are you." + +"I'll not be insulted by an animal! I am--" + +"Take it easy, Buregarde." + +"Take it easy nothing. This mercenary foot-soldier forgets one thing--or +maybe he doesn't know about it." + +"Don't call His Excellency's Peacekeepers 'mercenaries'!" snapped the +mercenary. + +"Peacekeeper," chuckled the dog. "Well listen and become wise. Dog and +man, man and dog, have been together for about a half-million years. +Once dog helped man in war and peace, and man gave dog food and shelter. +Dog helped man rise above the level of the savage, and man has helped +dog rise to the level of intelligence. But dog has one advantage. None +of us has been intelligent long enough to really believe that dog has a +soul, and those of us who do believe that also know that dog's soul is +devoted to man. Do you know about dog, Xanabian--Peacekeeper?" + +"No--" + +"Then don't force me to show you what kind of adversary intelligent dog +can be. Mere man is a pushover!" + +"Bah!" + +Buregarde loped in a mad circle around the mercenary. His Excellency's +Peacekeeper turned to stay facing the dog but found himself turning his +back on Peter. He stepped back and to one side and reached for his +heavy-duty pencil--the dog gave a low growl of warning and crouched for +a leap. + +"He means it--Peacekeeper," said Peter Hawley quietly. "Draw that pencil +and he'll have your hand in ribbons before you can level it." + +The mercenary drew in his breath. + +"Whistle for help and he'll have your throat." + +"I shall not permit this high handed--" + +"Then stop sounding off and listen to us!" snapped Peter. "I charge the +Empire of Xanabar with the crime of being indifferent to the welfare of +the stranger within her gate. I charge kidnaping and attempted murder, +and I charge the latter against the specimen you hold in your hand." + +"An outlander!" + +"Does he bring his own law to Xanabar? If he does, then so do I!" + +"I arrest you all for breaking the Peace of Xanabar." + +"Me, too?" asked Buregarde. + +The mercenary ignored the dog's eager sally. "You are armed, +Terrestrial." + +"So was he." + +"So am I!" snarled Buregarde showing a fine set of white fangs in the +most effective gesture. + +"This must cease!" thundered the mercenary. "You cannot threaten His +Excellency's Peacekeepers!" + +Buregarde growled, "Slip the mercenary a crystal-cut, boss. We've got a +girl to find!" + +"A girl? A Terrestrial girl?" asked the mercenary with his eyes opening. + +"The daughter of our envoy to Lonaphite. Miss Vanessa Lewis. Last +reported in her stateroom aboard the Terrestrial Spacecraft _Polaris_ +during landing pattern at Xanabar Citadel Spaceport." + +The mercenary said, "The work of outlanders--riffraff such as this!" + +"Well," snapped Peter Hawley, "do His Excellency's Peacemakers condone +such goings-on?" + +"We keep the Peace of Xanabar. Your charge is your word, Terrestrial." + +"Terrestrial Barbarian, isn't it?" + +"I arrest you--" + +"Oh, stop it. For fiveweight of crystal-cut can you be bribed to haul +that specimen off to jail and let me go about making my own Peace with +Xanabar?" + +"You accuse me of accepting bribes?" + +"You re a mercenary, aren't you? Sevenweight of crystal-cut." + +"Ten." + +"Seven," said Peter. + +"Ten," said the mercenary, "and you have one more caper coming." + +"Ten," agreed Peter Hawley, "and you look the other way when I take the +lid off." + + * * * * * + +"Still got it," said Buregarde, sniffing at the closed door but keeping +one eye on the disappearing mercenary and his prisoner. + +"I've got it, too. Still fright and concern: fear of harm, concern over +what happens next." + +"Strong?" + +"Definitely," said Peter closing his eyes and holding his breath. + +"Nothing measurable?" asked the dog after a full minute. + +"No. Too bad I was never introduced to her. I have no idea of her +strength of mind--wait!" Another minute went by in personal silence; +Peter Hawley's concentration far too deep to be disturbed by the sounds +of the city's spaceport slum by night. The dog backed away from the door +and took an alert position to guard Peter while the man was immersed in +his own mind. Finally Peter alerted and shook his head sadly. "I thought +for a moment that she'd caught me. A fleeting thought of rescue or +escape, concept of freedom, flight, safety. But wish-thinking. Not +communication. Let's go in." + +"Barge, or slink?" asked the dog. + +"Slink." + +"Have it your way," said Buregarde. + +Outside, the place looked closed. The door was solid, a plastic in +imitation of bronze through which neither light nor sound passed. The +windows were dark. But once the door was cracked, the wave of sound came +pouring out along the slit of light and filled the street with echo and +re-echo. + +[Illustration] + +"Slink, now," said the dog. + +"So everybody makes mistakes." + +Inside, a woman leaned over a low counter. "Check your weap ... say! You +can't bring that animal in here!" + +Buregarde said, "He isn't bringing me. I'm here because I like it." + +The woman's eyes bugged. "What ... kind--?" + +"I am man's best friend--the noble dog of Barbarian Terra." + +"Yes ... but--" + +"Oh," said Peter airily, "we're looking for a friend." + +"Friend? Who is he?" + +"It's a she and her name is Vanessa Lewis." + +"She ain't here." + +"The dame's a liar-ess, Peter. I scent her strong." + +"We'll just take a look around," said Peter to the check girl. + +"You'll have to check your weapons." + +"I'd rather go in naked. Sorry. Not today. Weapons happen to be my +business today. Come on, Buregarde." + + * * * * * + +Man and dog started along the hallway warily. Buregarde said, "Any +touch?" + +"Got a faint impression of alarm, danger, call out the guards." + +"I scent violence," said the dog. "And--" + +The door at the end of the hallway opened and a big man stepped out. +"What's going on here?" he demanded flatly. + +The check girl said, "He wouldn't check ..." + +The big man reached for his hip pocket. + +Peter said, "Take him high!" and they plunged. + +Peter dove for the man's knees, Buregarde went in a three-stride lope +like an accordion folding and unfolding and then arched in a long leap +with his snarling fangs aimed at the man's throat. Man and dog hit him +low and high before he could open his mouth, before he could free the +snub pencil-ray. There was a short scrabble that ended when Buregarde +lifted the man's head and whammed it down hard against the floor. + +Weakly, the check girl finished her statement, "...His weapons!" and +keeled over in a dead faint. + +Buregarde shook himself violently and worked his jaws, licking blood +from his chops. Peter looked in through the open wall-door opposite the +check counter; the racket had not been noticed by the roomful of +spacemen and riffraff. The babble of a hundred tongues still went on +amid the clink of glasses and the disturbing strains of Xanabian music. +Smoke from a hundred semi-noxious weeds lay in strata across the room, +and at a table in the far corner two men faced one another, their +expressions a mixed pair. One held heavily begrudged admiration as he +paid off five hundredweight of crystal-cut in the legal tender of +Xanabar to the other, whose expression was greedy self-confidence. One +of His Excellency's Peacekeepers presided over the exchange. Coldly he +extracted a fiftyweight from the pile and folded it into the signed and +completed wager-contract. For his own coffer he extracted a fiveweight +and slipped it into his boot top. + +Peter Hawley and Buregarde passed on, went through the far door dragging +their late adversary ignominiously by the heels. Amid the lessened +publicity of the distant hall, Peter checked the man and shrugged. "He +may live," he said coldly, "if he doesn't bleed to death." + +"You really ought to take 'em on the high side," said Buregarde, +plaintively. "All I've got is my teeth to grab with. They don't bleed so +bad from the ankle." + +"They don't stay stopped that way either," said Peter harshly. + +"You'd not be getting any praise from the Chief for that sort of +brutality." + +"If Xanabar weren't rotten to the core, we wouldn't be plowing through +it in the first place. Now, let's get going." + +"Shouldn't you call for the rest of the crew?" + +"Not until I'm certain the girl's here. I'd hate to cut the city-wide +search for cold evidence." + +"She's here. I scent her." + +"Maybe it's past tense, Buregarde. Or maybe it's another woman." + +"Could be. But one thing: It is definitely Terrestrial woman." The dog +sniffed again. "You get anything?" + +"No more than before. It's close and they're the same set of impressions +Yet, any woman would be frantic with fear and concern." + +"I ... _shhh_!" Buregarde's sharp ears lifted instinctively at a distant +sound not heard by the man. With a toss of his head, the dog folded one +ear back, uncovering the inner shell. Like a sonic direction finder, +Buregarde turned his head and listened. + +"Man," he said finally with a low growling voice. "Peter, there'll be +hell to pay around here directly. He's stumbled over our recent +conquest." + +"Let's get cutting!" + + * * * * * + +Peter started trying doors and peering in; the dog raced on ahead of the +man, sniffing deep at the bottom of each. It was the dog that found the +room. He called, "Here!" and Peter raced forward just as the fellow on +the stairs yelled something in his native tongue. + +Peter hit the door with the heel of his foot and slammed it open by +splintering the doorframe. The dog crouched low and poised; Peter +slipped in and around feeling for a light-switch. From inside there was +a voiceless whimper of fright and from outside and below there came the +pounding of several sets of heavy feet. Peter found the switch and +flooded the room with light. The girl--whether she was Miss Vanessa +Lewis or someone else, and kidnap-wise it was still a Terrestrial +girl--lay trussed on the bed, a patch of surgical tape over her mouth. + +"Sorry," said Peter in a voice that he hoped was soothing. He reached, +freed a corner of the tape and ripped it off in a single swipe. The girl +howled. Peter slapped her lightly. "Stop it!" he commanded sharply. +"Vanessa Lewis?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"Call out the marines, Peter," snarled the dog. + +"No! Bo! Back!" + +Reluctantly the dog backed into the room. He crouched low, poised to +spring, with his nose just beyond the doorframe. + +"Four of 'em," he whimpered pleadingly. "I can get two--" + +"Well, I can't get the other two unless I'm lucky," snapped Peter. +"Don't be so eager to die for nothing, Buregarde." + +"All this calculation," grumbled the dog sourly. "I don't call it a loss +if I get two for one." + +"I call it a loss if I don't get four for nothing--or the whole damned +Empire of Xanabar for nothing, for that matter. We've a job to do and it +ain't dying--until Miss Lewis is out of this glorious citadel." + +The girl looked from one to the other. They did not need any +identification; they were their own bona fides. Only man--Terrestrial +Man--had intelligent dogs to work beside him. Period, question closed. +Buregarde snarled at the door warningly while Peter stripped surgical +tape from wrists and ankles. + +Outside, someone called, "Come out or we blast!" + +Buregarde snarled, "Come in and we'll cut you to bits!" + +The quick flash of a pencil-ray flicked in a lance above the dog's nose: +Buregarde snapped back as the lancet of light cut downward, then snapped +forward for a quick look outside as the little pencil of danger +flickered dark. + +"Careful, Bo!" + +"You call the boys," snapped the dog. "I'll--" + + * * * * * + +Something came twisting forward to hit the doorframe, it dropped just +inside the doorjamb. Buregarde leaped, snapped at the thing and caught +it in midair, snapped his head in a vicious shake and sent it whirling +back outside again before it could be identified. The dog sunfished and +landed on all four. Then the thing went off with a dull _pouf_! outside. +There was a gentle flash of quick light that was smothered by a billow +of smoke. Buregarde leaped into the cloud and disappeared. There was a +hoarse shriek and the mad scrabble of dog-claws on the hard floor, the +sound of a heavy thud, and the angry snarl of a dog with its teeth +fastened into something soft. Then there was the fast patter of dog-feet +and Buregarde came around the door on a dead run, sliding side-wise to +carom off the opened door into safety just as a pencil-ray flicked to +follow him. + +"Got him," said the dog in a satisfied tone. "That's one!" + +He took his post by the doorframe again, the tip of his nose just +outside. There was a consultation out there in the hallway, at which +Buregarde called, "Make a wild rush for us!" + +Miss Lewis said, "What are we going to do?" + +"Fight it out," said Peter. "They can't win so long as we're alive now. +I've got my crew on its way in a dead run, and if we make enough noise, +some of His Excellency's Peacemakers will step in and demand their cut +of the finances." He grinned. "How much are you worth, Miss Lewis?" + +She shuddered. "I don't know how much father would pay--" + +"Hit 'em low, Peter!" came Buregarde's snarl. + +Three of them came in a-slant, bounced shoulders against the opened +door, caught their bearings and hell was out for noon. Buregarde caught +the first with a slash at the throat; they went down in a mad whirl of +dog and thug, paws, tail, arms, legs and a spurt of blood. The second +flicked his pencil-ray at Peter, its capsule charge faded to a mere +sting before it cut into him. The third aimed a kick at the struggling +dog. Vanessa Lewis snatched a box from the bureau and hurled it at the +second. Peter thumbed his pencil-ray and winged the third man in the +biceps. Buregarde leaped for the second man's gun hand and closed on it +as the hurled box opened and scatter-shotted his face with bric-a-brac. +The man with the bloody throat flailed out and caught Peter by the +ankle. Peter stomped his face with his other heel. Miss Lewis picked up +the table lamp and with a single motion turned off the light and +finished felling the one with the ray-burned shoulder. + +Buregarde dropped from the second man's wrist and crouched to spring. +The man cowered back, his good arm covering his throat and his other arm +hanging limp. He mouthed fright-noises in some tongue native to some +star a thousand light-years across the galaxy. + +Coldly, Peter stepped forward and belted him in the plexus. + +"Now," he said calmly, "we shall vacate the premises!" + +They went side by side, facing slightly outward, Buregarde between them +and slightly ahead. "We're coming out!" called the dog. "Three +Barbarians from Terra!" + + * * * * * + +Down on the dark street, they met their mercenary again. He eyed them +sourly. "I see you were, in a sense, successful." + +Peter Hawley faced the mercenary. "We were successful and would you like +to make something of it?" + +"I'm going to have to arrest you, you know." + +"You'll lose an arm trying!" snapped the dog. + +"There's murder been committed tonight," said His Excellency's +Peacemaker. "The Peace of Xanabar has been disturbed." + +"Why you chiseling crook, there's been kidnaping tonight, and--" + +"I'm afraid that I shall have to ask that the young lady produce her +passport," said the mercenary. "Otherwise she's in Xanabar Citadel +illegally." + +Buregarde said, "Hit him low, Peter. Here come the boys." + +"No!" + +"Just once--for fun?" + +"No. I want our money-grubbing Peacekeeper to carry a message to His +Excellency. I want His Excellency to read some Terrestrial History. Once +upon a time there was a place called the Byzantine Empire that laid +across the trade routes. The upper crust of people used to serve the +Presence of God in a golden throne whilst their underlings dealt in +human slaves and procured comely concubines for the emperor; their +policemen took bribes and human life was cheap. And when Byzantium fell, +all the world was forced to seek a new trade route. So tell His +Excellency that he'd better clean up his own foul mess, or some +barbarians will clean it up for him." + +"And that," said Buregarde, "goes for your dad-ratted cat!" + +[Illustration: FIN] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History Repeats, by George Oliver Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY REPEATS *** + +***** This file should be named 23884.txt or 23884.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/8/8/23884/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Greg Bergquist, Bruce Albrecht and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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