He whirled to face the unsmiling patrolman. "Dammit, Hober, I didn't kill him! You can't throw me into that refuse-heap down there! You can't do it!"
"Please, Yorkan Varr. We're approaching the moment when we must part." The patrolman held out a hand. "I'm sorry to have to do this to you. It's my job, that's all. Shake?"
Yorkan Varr stared at the extended hand for a moment, then slapped it away. The patrolman smiled apologetically and rang a bell. Three other men, also in the bronze uniform of the Condelari Federation, appeared from within and saluted.
"Get the disposal ship ready," the patrolman ordered.
"Yes, sir."
Hober turned to Yorkan Varr. "Come on, now. Let's go down and get ready to go to Earth, shall we?"
With a half-sobbing cry, Yorkan Varr threw himself forward on the patrolman. His fists pounded mercilessly into the amazed man as he released the pent-up emotions of the nightmarish trial, the sentence, the journey across space to Earth.
"Help! Help!"
Varr felt hands grasp him from behind. Blind with rage, he let go of Hober, struck out at the others, felt his fists crack satisfyingly into flesh.
Then there was the chilling numbness of a stunbeam, and Varr froze.