And then it began.

Harskin had been on the lookout for the explosion ever since they had arrived, and when he saw the spears beginning to bristle in the gnorph ranks, he yanked his blaster out and fired.

The stunning beam swept the front rank of gnorphs; they fell. The others growled menacingly and advanced.

The seven Earthmen jammed together in a unit and fired constantly; gnorphs lay unconscious all over, and still more came pouring from the huts. The Terrans started to run. Spears sailed past their heads.

It was a long, grim retreat to the ship.

They were still a quarter of a million miles from Fasolt when Radioman Klaristenfeld reported that Captain Fourteen Deathless of the Rigelian ship was calling.

“We see you have left also,” the Rigelian said when Harskin took the phone. “You were evidently as unsuccessful as we.”

“Not quite,” Harskin said. “At least we got out of there without any casualties. I counted six dead Rigelians outside that village — plus the man you left behind to watch over us. He’s in our brig.”

“Ah. I had wondered what became of him. Well, Harskin, do we declare Fafnir a neutral planet and leave it at that? It’s a rather unsatisfactory finish to our little encounter.”

“Agreed. But what can we do? We dumped nearly fifty thousand credits’ worth of trinkets when we escaped.”

“You Terrans are lavish,” the Rigelian observed. “Our goods were worth but half that.”

“That’s the way it goes,” Harskin said. “Well, best wishes, Fourteen Deathless.”

“One moment! Is the decision a dual withdrawal?”

“I’m not so sure,” Harskin said, and broke the contact.

When they reached Fasolt and rejoined the men in the dome, Harskin ordered a general meeting. He had an idea.

“The aliens,” he said, “offered the gnorphs twenty-five thousand credits of goods, and were repulsed angrily. We offered twice as much — and, if Archer’s account of the Rigelian incident was accurate, we were repulsed about twice as fast. Yang, does that suggest anything to you?”

The little sociologist wrinkled his head. “The pattern still is not clear,” he said.

“I didn’t think so.” Harskin knotted his fingers in concentration. “Let me put it this way: the degree of insult the gnorphs felt was in direct variance with the degree of wealth offered. That sound plausible?”

Yang nodded.

“Tell me: what happens when an isolated, biologically glum race is visited by warm-blooded aliens from the skies? Suppose those warm-blooded aliens want a treaty of friendship — and offer to pay for it? How will the natives react, Yang?”

“I see. They’ll get highly insulted. We’re treating them in a cavalier fashion.”

“More than that. We’re obliging them to us. We’re purchasing that treaty with our gifts. But obviously gifts are worth more than a treaty of friendship, so they feel they’ll still owe us something if they accept. They don’t want to owe us anything. So they chase us away.

“Now,” continued Harskin, “if we reverse the situation — if we make ourselves beholden to them, and beg for the signing of the treaty instead of trying to buy a treaty — why, that gives them a chance to seem lordly.” He turned to Ramos, the military attache. “Ramos, do you think a solar system is worth a spaceship?”

“Eh?”

“I mean, if it becomes necessary to sacrifice our ship in order to win the Antares system, will that be a strategically sound move?”

“I imagine so,” Ramos said cautiously.

Harskin flicked a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Very well, then. Mawley, you and I and Navigator Dominic are going to take the Peccable on her final cruise. Klaristenfeld, I want you to get a subradio sending set inside my spacesuit, and make damned sure you don’t put it where it’ll bother me. Snollgren, you monitor the area and keep me posted on what the Rigelians are doing, if anything.”

He pointed to the Navigator. “Come up to Control Cabin, Dominic. We’re going to work out the most precise orbit you’ll ever need to compute.”

Antares was sinking in the sky and the blue sun was in partial eclipse. Suddenly, the Peccable flashed across the sky of Fafhir, trailing smoke at both jets, roaring like a wounded giant as it circled in wildly for its crash landing.

The three men aboard were huddled in their acceleration cradles, groaning in pain as the increasing grav buffeted and bruised them. Below, Fafnir sprang up to meet the ship.

Harskin was bathed in his own sweat. So many things could go wrong. . . .

They might have computed one tenth-place decimal awry — and would land square in the heart of the swampland.

The stabilizer jets might be consumed by the blaze they had set too soon, and the impact of their landing would kill them.

The airlock might refuse to open.

The gnorphs might fail to act as expected. . . .

It was, he thought, an insane venture.

The ship throbbed suddenly as the stabilizer jets went into action. The Peccable froze for a fraction of a second, then began to glide.

It struck the blood-red ocean nose first. Furiously, Harskin climbed from his cradle and into his spacesuit. Now, if we only figured the buoyancy factor right. . .

Two spacesuited figures waited for him at the airlock. He grinned at them, threw open the hatch, and stepped into the outer chamber. The door opened; a wall of water rushed at him. He squirted out of the sinking ship and popped to the surface like a cork. A moment later he saw Mawley and Dominic come bobbing above the water nearby.

He turned. All that was visible of the Peccable was the rear jet assembly and the tips of the once-proud wings. An oily slick was starting to cover the bright-red water. The ship was sinking rapidly as water poured into the lock

“Look over there!” Mawley exclaimed.

Harskin looked. Something that looked like a small island with a neck was approaching him: a monstrous turtlelike thing with a thick, saurian neck and a crested unintelligent head, from which dangled seven or eight fleshy barbels.

And riding in a sort of howdah erected on the broad carapace were three gnorphs, peering curiously at the three spacesuited men bobbing in the water.

The rescue party was on time.

“Help!” cried Harskin. “Rescue us! Oh, I beg of you, rescue us, and we’ll be eternally obliged to you! Rescue us!”

He hoped the converter was translating the words with a suitable inflection of piteous despair.

DOUBLEPLUS PRIORITY 03-16-2952 ABS XPF32

EXP FORCE ANTARES SYSTEM TO HIGH COMMAND

TERRA:

BE ADVISED ANTARES SYSTEM IN TERRAN FOLD. RIGELIANS ON HAND HAVE VALIDATED OUR TREATY WITH INHABITANTS OF FAFNIR, ANTARES’ ONE WORLD. ALL IS WELL AND NO CASUALTIES EXCEPT SHIP PECCABLE ACCIDENTALLY DESTROYED. FIFTEEN MEMBERS OF CREW LIVING IN DOME ON COMPANION WORLD FASOLT, THREE OF US LIVING ON FAFNIR. PLEASE SEND PICKUP SHIP DOUBLE FAST AS WE ARE CURRENTLY IN MENIAL SERVITUDE.

ALL THE BEST, LOVE AND KISSES, ETC.

HARSKIN