Jorgenson and Ganti swung their slings together. The jailer-Thrid turned just in time to see what was happening to them. It was final.
And the copter took off again with Ganti and Jorgenson clothed and with an adequate supply of stones in improvised pockets in their garments.
It was perfectly simple from that time on. They walked into a village of the Thrid, on the mainland. It was the village where Ganti had lived; whose governor had spoken and said and observed that Ganti's wife wished to enter his household and that Ganti wished her to. Ganti marched truculently down its wider street. Astonished eyes turned upon him. Ganti said arrogantly:
"I am the new governor. Call others to see."
The villagers could not question the statement of an official. Not even the statement that he was an official. So Ganti—with Jorgenson close behind—swaggered into the local governor's palace. It wasn't impressive, but merely a leafy, thatched, sprawling complex of small buildings. Ganti led the way into the inmost portion of the palace and found a fat, sleeping Thrid with four villager-Thrid fanning him with huge fans. Ganti shouted, and the fat Thrid sat up, starkly bewildered.
"I speak and say and observe," said Ganti coldly, "that I am the new governor and that you are about to die, with no one touching you."
The fat Thrid gaped at him. It was incredible. In fact, to a Thrid who had never heard of a missile weapon—it was impossible. Ganti swung his strip of cloth by the two cords attached to it. It whirled too swiftly to be seen clearly. A stone flew terribly straight. There was an impact.
The local governor who had spoken and said and observed that Ganti's wife wanted to enter his household was quite dead.
"I," said Ganti to his former fellow-villagers, "I am the governor. If any deny it, they will die with no one touching them."