He drew his needler.
The proteus continued walking, through the marketplace and toward the sea. Someone yelled, "Hey, that thing's going to fall in! We better stop it!"
"I own it," Herndon called coolly. "Keep away from it, if you value your own lives."
He received several puzzled glances, but no one moved. The proteus had almost reached the edge of the sea-wall now, and paused indecisively. Not even the lowest of life-forms will welcome its own self-destruction, no matter what surcease from pain can be attained thereby.
"Mount the wall," Herndon called to it.
Blindly, the proteus obeyed. Herndon's finger caressed the firing-knob of the needler. He watched the proteus atop the low wall, staring down into the murky harbor water, and counted to three.
On the third count he fired. The slim needle-projectile sped brightly across the marketplace and buried itself in the back of the proteus' body. Death must have been instantaneous; the needle contained a nerve-poison that was effective on all known forms of life.
The creature stood frozen on the wall an instant, caught midway between changes, and toppled forward into the water. Herndon nodded and holstered his weapon. He saw people's heads nodding. He heard a murmured comment: "Just paid almost a thousand for it, and first thing he does is shoot it."
It had been a costly morning. Herndon turned as if to walk on, but he found his way blocked by a small wrinkle-faced man who had come out of the jewelry-auction crowd across the way.
"My name is Bollar Benjin," the little prune of a man said. His voice was a harsh croak. His body seemed withered and skimpy. He wore a tight gray tunic of shabby appearance. "I saw what you just did."