Delay in Transit

By F. L. WALLACE
Illustrated by SIBLEY
An unprovoked, meaningless night attack is terrifying enough on your own home planet, worse on a world across the Galaxy. But the horror is the offer of help that cannot be accepted!
Muscles tense, said Dimanche. Neural index 1.76, unusually high. Adrenalin squirting through his system. In effect, he's stalking you. Intent: probably assault with a deadly weapon.
Not interested, said Cassal firmly, his subvocalization inaudible to anyone but Dimanche. I'm not the victim type. He was standing on the walkway near the brink of the thoroughfare. I'm going back to the habitat hotel and sit tight.
First you have to get there, Dimanche pointed out. I mean, is it safe for a stranger to walk through the city?
Now that you mention it, no, answered Cassal. He looked around apprehensively. Where is he?
Behind you. At the moment he's pretending interest in a merchandise display.
A native stamped by, eyes brown and incurious. Apparently he was accustomed to the sight of an Earthman standing alone, Adam's apple bobbing up and down silently. It was a Godolphian axiom that all travelers were crazy.
Cassal looked up. Not an air taxi in sight; Godolph shut down at dusk. It would be pure luck if he found a taxi before morning. Of course he could walk back to the hotel, but was that such a good idea?
A Godolphian city was peculiar. And, though not intended, it was peculiarly suited to certain kinds of violence. A human pedestrian was at a definite disadvantage.
Correction, said Dimanche. Not simple assault. He has murder in mind.