Pushover Planet
Nebula Science Fiction – November 1955
(1987)*
James White
Illustrated by Arthur Thomson

	The Aliens demanded quick and peaceful submission—while victory was still worth having

-

	The fleet came in fast—from the direction of the Crab Nebula—and decelerating at a rate which made it fearfully evident that the ships contained nothing resembling Human life. Still braking furiously it passed within three million miles of Mars, ignoring the tiny colony there and continuing to head sunwards. It passed the Sun within the orbit of Mercury, then headed outwards again, towards Earth.

	Decelerating savagely into a tight orbit they swept around Earth twice. Two sub-fleets from the main armada—eight fat, shiny torpedoes surrounded by a silvery mist of scoutships—peeled off and screamed deep into the Earth's air envelope. Eight cities died in the fury of nuclear fusion reactions as a demonstration of the futility of resistance.

	The ships met no resistance, anywhere.

	The raiders hurtled upwards to rejoin the main fleet, pulverising a cargo dumb-bell which was crawling into its transfer orbit and unlucky enough to be in their way. The fleet reformed and headed for the Moon. The potential resistance from the domed settlements there was neutralised by more atomic bombs, then it landed on a great, pumice plain, adopting the defensive formation of concentric circles.

	In a nearby crater there, were three geologists busy staking out a new mine. These they took alive. One of them was allowed to stay alive. This was because, in the present unusual circumstances, a speaking representative of the enemy would be a big help.

-

	Crellegnan dur Shan, Fleet Commander of the thirty-ninth Planter Expedition. Parent of Sixty-four, and Citizen with Privilege of the Greater Empire of Lednang, looked at the entity standing before him and felt extreme distaste. Like most low-gravity creatures it balanced on only two lower, relatively strong limbs; and it was soft, flabby. In all his extremely long life the Commander had rarely seen a more horrible specimen. An uncontrollable shudder of revulsion shook him, sending quick undulations racing along his eight, hard-muscled tentacles.

	The creature's eyes followed the movement, its face muscles writhed, and the sickly pink pigmentation of its skin became several shades lighter. Obviously the appearance of the Commander's highly-trained physique was arousing similar feelings in it. Dur Shan spoke first.

	"What is your name, please, and rank or title? "

	The effort of saying "please" to the creature nearly killed him, but he said it. Mentally cursing the near-catastrophic series of misfortunes that had necessitated a Lednang Fleet Commander using diplomacy instead of force, he watched the creature through the transparent wall separating them arid waited impatiently for the reply.

	"Murchison," came the answer shakily, "I am a ..."—The closest the Translator could come to it was 'A Student of Rock Formations'—"... and we do not use titles." The voice rose in a questioning note. "But ... but you're speaking English! W-why is that?" The tone changed again abruptly. "And what happened to Quigley and Williams? If you've hurt them I'll—""

	Questions—and threats—from this!

	"Silence!" the Commander roared, then he caught himself sharply. Diplomacy; he mustn't frighten the thing too much. He forced his voice down to a more normal pitch and went on: "I will explain, Murchison.

	I do not speak English, whatever that is, but this Translator—" He indicated the mechanism with a lightning flick of a tentacle, "—which is attuned to your type of nervous system, breaks down my words into a series of basic sounds on to which my meaning has been mentally impressed, and you think you hear me speak in your own tongue. The effect is, of course, reversible. The operating principles of the Translator are naturally beyond your understanding, but electronics, micro-surgery, and a form of aural hypnotism all contribute to its functioning.

	"This is the reason for the absence of your companions. In order to calibrate the Translator efficiently for you, we were forced to investigate the Human body organisation on the physical as well as on the psychological level. In the process both specimens were damaged irreparably. However," the Commander offered as a friendly gesture, "If they were related to you, you may have a small bone from each as a Memory Piece—"

	"You beast," said the creature slowly. "You dirty b—" There was much more—most of it unintelligible—but the Commander got the general drift of it. Not only had his gesture of sympathetic friendship been rebuffed, but the Human was adding insults to this injury—and insults of a very personal nature.

	It was amusing, almost. But he had too much on his mind to spare the time to enjoy the situation.

	"Enough!" he interrupted harshly. "Your insults are meaningless, based as they are upon relationships occurring only in a bi-sexual race. However, you have made it clear that you dislike me."

	He paused, wondering what would be the best way to present the situation to this Human. A Lednang was polite only to superiors. Asking this pallid, over-talkative slug for assistance was so foreign to his nature that he would have much preferred a Death with Honour. But he could not end his own life; at least, not just yet. There were close on half a million individuals, members of the Expedition, depending on him.

	"This dislike is regrettable," he resumed. "But it does not alter matters as they affect you and your race. You are very fortunate, though you don't know it, in being offered the chance to make terms. So that you will realise your good fortune I will explain the situation as it affects your world and the creatures on it.

	"Briefly," the Commander began, "I am here to plant a colony. I have a fleet of two thousand transport and fighting units; you have, in comparison, nothing. I know this to be so by observation and experiment. When I first approached your planet, two flotillas were detailed to test your defenses, to draw your fire. They drew no fire, though they reduced several of your cities in an attempt to goad you into retaliatory action. The attempt failed, and, when all the reports were in, I knew why.

	"There were no defenses."

	And that, the Commander knew, had been a colossal piece of good fortune. As he went on he gave fervent thanks that this race, besides being defenseless, was also non-telepathic.

	"The land and sea surface has been scanned minutely, and photographed. Nowhere is there a sign of either surface or atmosphere craft carrying any form of armament. You do not, in fact, appear to have any form of military organisation at all. Your civilisation is spread thinly and evenly in village-sized communities across your planet. Your so tall and imposing cities—including the ones we destroyed—are practically deserted. From all this there is only one conclusion that can be drawn.

	"When a race forsakes its proud, sky-reaching cities and hugs itself to the soil again; when it becomes so moribund that, lacking an extraplanetary enemy, it refuses even a mild internecine struggle, that race has become decadent, and useless—"

	"But we have space travel, and atomic pow—" The Human bit the protest off in mid word, as if it had almost said too much.

	"True," the Commander agreed when it was obvious that the Human wasn't going to say anything else. "You have space travel—if you can call spaceships chemical-powered fuel containers and those slow, flimsy ' dumb-bells' that are incapable of ever landing anywhere. And we've seen the atomic piles dotted about the surface of your world. You use them for heat, power, and light. I am also aware that these piles could be made to produce fissionable material suitable for use as a mass-destruction weapon against us. I hereby warn you that if any of these piles modifies its present output in any way without the supervision of a Lednang technician, we will wipe it out of existence immediately.

	"Tt is the widespread use of atomic energy on your planet that is saving you from complete destruction. Normally, a Planter Fleet of the Lednang clears the chosen planet of all intelligent life before Seeding takes place. This time I am making an exception because your race can be useful to me." Deliberately his voice hardened as he said: "I am extremely long-lived by your standards. But I am impatient—it has been several of your lifetimes since I last saw a solar system. I want the complete co-operation of your race. I want it quickly."

	The Commander studied the Human closely. Its face colour had darkened again and it was less tense; its initial shock at meeting him had begun to wear off. That was good; it should be capable of thinking clearly. Very slowly, so that the Translator would get his meaning across with no possibility of distortion, he said:

	"I want you to act as intermediary—spokesman—between the Lednang and your race. There is a communicator on the wall behind you which will reach them on any frequency." The Commander paused, choosing his words with great care—he couldn't risk being too harsh in his demands, or overgentle, either—he stated: "I require a large amount of radioactive material—a few thousands of your ' tons'—and similar amounts of certain chemicals and food-plants. Shelters will also have to be built in large numbers. Everyone on the planet will have to contribute to the work, which will be supervised by a small number of Lednang.

	"Providing 6his work is done in a satisfactory manner, and the Lednang supervisors are not molested in any way, I will not depopulate the planet, but instead will allow a certain number—say about four hundred beings—to live out their lives in some sealed-off area to be chosen later."

	The Human choked and coughed, its face growing very red. Apparently its breathing passages had been blocked by its digestive juices. The Commander felt an almost overpowering disgust at such animal-like behaviour in a thinking being. Finally the words came.

	"That is very, very generous of you," it said.

	The Commander felt pleased, but he had a vague feeling of uneasiness, too. The Translator, he reminded himself forcefully, was foolproof. The Human had merely expressed a natural gratitude at the generosity of his terms. He forced the doubts from his mind and said:

	"Call up your home planet now. In a loosely-organised administration such as yours I expect there will be some delay in reaching a decision. However, tell them that on the speed with which they reach agreement will depend the number of Humans who will be allowed to live. That should hurry them up.

	"In the unlikely event of them refusing my terms, tell them that we have selective germ weapons capable of wiping them out completely in one rotation period. We would then do the work ourselves."

	The Commander wished heartily that it was all over. It seemed eternities since he'd been free from this poisonous fog of worry, this grinding pressure of responsibility for the safety of his Expedition. But the end was in sight. He had contacted a member of this planet's dominant life-form, and received a most satisfactory response. Almost cheerfully he ended: "Be sure to stress the generous nature of my terms. We do not wish to do the work ourselves. It would be ... inconvenient"

	It would be inconvenient!

	That, thought the Commander as the Human turned to the communicator, was without doubt the greatest piece of understatement in all Lednangian history. The truth was that it would be disastrous, impossible. He had come with a proud fleet of two thousand fighting units, with arms capable of reducing twenty planets the size of this one, apparently invincible. But, he thought bitterly, if the Human only knew the physical and mental condition of the crews of those ships ...

	He, the whole Expedition, had been so outrageously, so unbelievably unlucky. He writhed, physically as well as mentally, as the incidents came crowding into his mind. And it had started off so beautifully, too.

	Dur Shan was a proud and gifted Branch of the Tree Crellegnan, a commoner, but brilliant and ambitious, the first of the lower Branches to be given charge of a Colonisation project. He remembered the send-off, and the crowds of well-wishers. Some of them had been Nobles so old that their birth dates had been forgotten, even by themselves. The memory of himself standing at the entry port of his Flagship giving the salute of the Planter—three raised, extended tentacles symbolising the Mother Tree of Lednang—came back to him vividly. It had been a great, proud moment. Then he had taken off.

	Velocity had been quickly built up until the limiting speed of light was approached, then all engines had been cut—the increase in mass of a ship travelling at just under the speed of light made any attempt at moving faster a sheer waste of fuel. In every unit of his Fleet the crews had begun de-energising their ships until, except for the Star Approach timers, the ships were dead. Then, in the cold and the darkness they curled up tightly, exuded their protective shells, and went into the deep sleep.

	And, in order not to waste time, they had already begun the body processes that would result eventually in Budding.

	A solar system had been picked out for them containing at least one planet with suitable gravity and atmosphere. But spectroanalysis, especially at inter-stellar distances, is sometimes inaccurate. When they'd arrived, the atmosphere of the chosen world turned out to be a not particularly slow poison as far as the Lednang were concerned. The other planets had been airless.

	The Commander barely heard the Human talking into the communicator as he remembered the shock and near despair that had caused him. But there'd been only one thing to do, and that was try again.

	When they'd left that system far behind and were free from its gravitic disturbances, the Eye had been formed. A thin, highly-reflective membrane was stretched between a circle of scoutships. By spinning the circle and accelerating forward slightly at the same time they made it a perfect concave mirror of tremendous diameter. At the mirror's centre of focus, another ship contained the eye-piece.

	With this giant telescope they searched for another system with suitable planets.

	But the time for the search was strictly limited. Even in inter-stellar space there was a lot of meteoric dust, and even the best pilots couldn't hold their ships to such a tight formation for long. Fogging and distortion caused by dust punctures and the wavering of the peripheral scout-ships soon ruined the mirror's resolving power—but not before it had served its purpose.

	The second planet had everything. Atmosphere, gravity, and temperature were all perfect. The first shelters had been built and transshipping was already under way when the Astronomers discovered that it wasn't such a wonderful place after all. During the time of the voyage there, they'd said, the system's Sun had become unstable. They'd advised immediate evacuation.

	The Fleet had left just in time to avoid being vaporised along with that perfect planet.

	The situation had been critical then. Food and fuel was short, and to make matters worse, the Budding of the crew members was having its usual effect of cutting down their efficiency; and psychologically they were a mess. But he had formed the Eye again and searched until he found another likely prospect. Velocity had been built up, they'd gone into deep sleep, and eventually, with his fuel practically exhausted, he had arrived.

	This time the sun was stable and the planet, though a little on the small Side, was right for them. But it took only one close look at it to tell him that it was impossible.

	The Lednang were already there.

	It was inconceivable—space being so big—but a previous Expedition had already seeded the place. And they'd done it thoroughly; there was no space left for him at all, even if he had not been bound by an unbreakable code of ethics not to interfere, or even make contact, with a young and immature Colony. He had quickly taken his fleet to one of the system's outer planets, away from the maddening sight of a world he could not touch ...

	The voice of the Human, suddenly raised in anger, jolted him back to the present.

	"... I don't want the assistant under-secretary, I tell you," it was shouting. "I want the Boss. These things are in a hurry, and they're tough. There's got to be a top level meeting right away." The creature's voice dropped to a low, desperately urgent whisper, and the Commander saw that parts of its head were beaded with moisture. "This is a life and death matter, for everybody."

	Almost the Commander felt sympathy for the creature. He thought he knew how it was suffering—he'd known what it was like to have disaster looming on all sides, and apparently no way of escaping it When that third solar system had proved untouchable because it was already Seeded, things had been bad.

	He hadn't, he remembered, been able to do anything for quite a while. Three almost mind-shattering shocks of disappointment in a row had made him resigned, fatalistic—a very rare condition of mind for a Lednang. The condition had verged on the psychotic. Delusions of persecution, though they hadn't seemed like delusions then, had made him almost give up. But somehow he hadn't, though he didn't feel particularly proud of the fact. He'd just decided that it would be better to die doing something than while doing nothing.

	More than three-quarters of the Fleet personnel he had ordered into deep sleep; this in itself was dangerous because each crew member bore two Buds in an advanced stage of growth, and this was a severe drain on their life force. But in deep sleep a person didn't eat, and the food situation had been chronic.

	There was barely enough fuel left for an interplanetary flight, let alone an interstellar one, so the remaining personnel he set to work processing fuel from the radio-active deposits on one of the system's outer planets. Also, the Lednang metabolism could absorb practically anything in the Carbon chains as food; they were able to replenish the food stores with stuff that would keep them living, though they certainly wouldn't thrive on it

	All the work had to be done in spacesuits, of course. The suits were tight-fitting and inflexible for the most part—definitely not the sort of thing to be worn by a Lednang bearing a pair of well-developed Buds. The Commander remembered with a shudder how many had died while working in those cramping suits; died horribly, under the physical and mental agony of having their still-fragile Buds crushed by a too sudden, unthinking movement.

	And the sight of a Lednang dying by anything but direct violence—they were practically an immortal race—was enough to drive several others into madness.

	Hundreds had died before he had the fuel and food for a fourth attempt, and the remaining crew members were in poor condition. When he'd left the system behind he set up an Eye and began to search. It was a small Eye this time—stretched between eight ships that were connected by cable—because the pilots lacked the eye and muscle co-ordination to hold a larger formation. Even then the mirror developed so many bumps and twists that it gave a true image for only about one second in twelve. Too little food of the wrong kind was showing in the way his skeleton crews were handling their ships. But apparently his luck was changing at last. He found Sol, and Earth.

	The procedure was as before, and when the Fleet was decelerating into the Solar System he saw through the Flagship's telescope that his luck was even better than he could have believed possible.

	The planet had a very low gravity, but otherwise it was eminently suitable; and it was inhabited. This didn't matter as he intended eliminating any intelligent life he found—that was prescribed usage with all Planter Fleets, and he could do it very easily. But then he began to think of the pitifuly few really active crew members he had left, and how even they would be hampered by their Buds while shelters were being built and Lednangian food plants cultivated, and he realised how long it would take, and how terribly few Seeds—and parents—would survive. He thought of all that, then he thought again.

	The result of his second thoughts led to an occurence unheard of in all the proud history of Lednang. He decided to make a treaty!

	A sudden change in the manner of the Human at the communicator caught his attention. He listened.

	"... Yes, sir," the Human was saying respectfully, "I said eight limbs, but not like an octopus. I can't describe it. There isn't any form of life on Earth resembling it at all, not even among the insects. And its strong. I'd say its home planet had a gravity pull of at least six G's, and there must be hundreds of the things on each ship ..."

	As it continued speaking the Commander felt a growing self-satisfaction. His plan was working perfectly. The Human was forming conclusions—and they were exactly the conclusions the Commander wanted him to form. It was right about there being hundreds on each ship, but totally wrong in thinking that they were all in the splendid physical condition of the Commander. Only himself and a few of his immediate subordinates were reasonably active—Budding was forbidden to the higher executives on an Expedition because of its effect on their mental processes—and these had been the only ones allowed to contact the Human. Its assumption was therefore justified. But when he thought of the utter sham his mighty and apparently invincible Fleet was ...

	From long distance observation he knew that the planet had only begun to use space flight, and space weapons were therefore unknown. But, just to be on the safe side, he'd kept the main fleet orbiting the Earth at a couple of diameters out while he sent two subfleets down to test the planet's defenses. But there'd been no solid projectiles, no guided missiles, nothing. The subfleets had whiffed some of those towering, unbelievably fragile cities out of existence as a demonstration of the futility of resistance, then he had recalled them, not because he was bothered by the destruction of the Human cities, but because if they had hung around much longer, the physical condition of some of the pilots would have led to miscalculations of height and distance.

	If a Lednang cruiser had cracked up while making an attack approach; if it had shown itself to be vulnerable in any way, that would have spoiled the impression of complete and utter invincibility that he wanted to give the planet's inhabitants.

	The planet had been a paradox, a beautiful paradox. It had atomic power—those squat, cube-shaped buildings were unmistakably nuclear reactors—and hence to technology would be of assistance to his food and fuel-starved Fleet. But somehow it had attained atomic power without having to show the corresponding scars of atomic warfare; and from what he could see, the natives were so decadent as to be incapable of harbouring a warlike thought in their minds.

	He had taken his Fleet to the Moon and set it down in full view of the telescopes of Earth. His ships were defenceless while grounded, but defence was unnecessary here. A show of force was all that was required. Then he had obtained his specimens ...

	He brought his attention back to the present as the sound of a new voice came from the communicator.

	"... And you must make it understand that we are not yet a world state, and that calling a conference will take some time," it was saying, "But we are speeding things up as much as possible." The voice became questioning. "Now, I don't want to disbelieve you, but are you certain of your facts. We don't want to do something we'll be very sorry for later. Tell me, what weapons have they got?

	"A form of H-bomb," the Human answered. "And a fast-acting bacteriological weapon that I know of. There are probably others."

	"I see."

	"I didn't want to talk about the terms they are offering until I contacted someone high up, in case of panic, you understand." The Human paused, then went on hastily, "but you'd better know the worst, now. Briefly, this is what they want from us. and what they offer in return ..." It repeated the conditions of the treaty exactly as the Commander had given them, including the request for reaching a quick decision. Then it waited.

	"That is a treaty? Well, well."

	"Yes—and a generous one, by its standards," the Human replied. "But, tell me, what are you going to do? Can we do anything ... constructive? "

	"I don't know. It depends on how much they know about us. Tell me. do they know about our atomic—"

	"Yes!" the Human interrupted harshly. "I've already told you that they know. Part of the treaty is that we produce radio-actives for them." It lowered the volume of its voice slightly and went on: "We can't change the operation of our power piles in any way. We can't make weapons. They have the whole Earth's surface either photographed or under observation. I repeat; the whole Earth's surface."

	"I understand," came the unhurried reply. "But tell me, Mr. Murchison, are we being overheard? "

	The Commander saw the Human exhale loudly, then answer: "That's right. The alien Commander is a few yards away from me." The Human threw a hasty glance over its shoulder. "It understands all we say though it doesn't speak our language, but it definitely isn't telepathic."

	"I see. Well, in that case I'll address it directly." There was a brief pause, then speaking slowly and distinctly, the voice went on: "You must understand, sir, that we have no rulers, no supreme authority, merely—er—representatives of various groups of people. It will take several hours to gather these representatives together, and possibly as much as three or four rotation periods, before a decision can be reached ..."

	Too long, the Commander thought; far too long. Maybe he had been too lenient in his terms, He'd be more strict with these creatures—make them jump to it. A vague worry began to nag at the back of his mind. This Human talking over the communicator wasn't reacting properly. It should be fearful, in a state of panic, but instead it was calm, unhurried. He listened to it without interrupting.

	"... I suggest, sir," it said, "that some of our technical experts confer with you over this instrument. That way, while we are reaching a decision, you can be making your requirements known to us, and thus save time."

	"I have one of our nuclear scientists with me now. If you wish to speak with him ...?"

	Maybe these creatures weren't so slow after all, the Commander thought. He said: "I will speak with your technician. But remember, I am impatient. You must reach a decision in one half of a rotation period, not three or four, otherwise I will destroy eight of your cities for every additional hour it takes you beyond that time."

	And that, the Commander thought grimly, should make them move.

	"We will do our best, sir," came the reply. "But you must realise 'that, though we live outside them, all our production and research centres are situated in the larger cities. Destroying them might interfere with the efficiency of our later work for you."

	The Commander felt frustrated, and suddenly angry. But the creature was right. He dismissed it harshly and began talking to the Human techanician about his requirements.

	The technician was a respectful and very attentive listener, and its knowledge of nuclear physics came as a pleasant shock to him. The Commander was profoundly grateful that the Humans were not a warlike race. The Translator, however, was apparently incapable of getting some of the more abstruse scientific concepts across properly—or the Human was slow to grasp some of the ideas. He had to go into a detailed explanation of the workings of the Lednang atomic drive—and the fundamental principles involved—-before he could make the Human understand exactly what he wanted. But finally he made himself clear to the creature, and it began giving orders to some underlings that were with it. The particular isotopes that he needed could be made. But it would require considerable reorganisation of production methods, and ... a lot of time.

	The Commander told him sharply that if the whole population worked on it, very little time would be needed, and the Human had better see to it that exactly that was done. Then he told the creature to summon food-chemistry and architectural technicians as he wanted the work of provisioning and sheltering his crews to be started as quickly as possible.

	While waiting for the new technicians to arrive, the Commander began using his inter-ship communicator, demanding reports on the state of his crews from the ship captains. As he listened he thought that it was a very good thing that the Human in the room with him was not hearing those reports through the Translator. They were very, very bad.

	He cut a ship-captain, who was reporting the death of a dormitory full of Lednang due to failure of the refrigeration system, off in mid-sentence. The Human, Murchison, was speaking again. He was growing suspicious of these Humans. They were properly servile before his display of power, but they didn't appear as fearful as he had expected them to be. They didn't, in fact, appear frightened at all.

	Until he understood them fully it was more important that he listen and learn as much as he could.

	"... And did you learn anything useful back there? "

	"We certainly did," the nuclear technician that the Commander had spoken to replied. "The eighty per cent, efficient, controlled conversion of matter into energy! Think of the space drive that would give us. And it's such a simple affair, too. But it comes a bit late to do us any good."

	"I guess so," the Human, Murchison, said. Then: "Er, tell me. Were you stalling back there? You didn't seem very bright." 

	"What do you think."

	The Commander felt suddenly confused. Bright? Luminescent-over a non-visual communicator? And what exactly was "stalling". There was ambiguity in the words that was confusing both the Translator and himself. He wouldn't have that.

	"Silence!" he roared. Then: "You are using words the meaning of which is not clear. You will cease doing this immediately, or I will inflict physical punishment on the Human Murchison, here." He said to that suddenly white-faced Human: "Find out if your conference of ' representatives' has reached a decision yet."

	The Human began talking rapidly into the communicator, but the Commander noticed that the words it used were simple, and their meanings clear.

	Eventually a voice that he had heard before said: "We are sorry, sir, but no decision has been reached as yet."

	No decision yet! What did these creatures think they were doing? Didn't they know he could blast their whole planet out of existence in a matter of minutes if he wanted to. But he knew he wouldn't do that—not while his Fleet was in its present predicament.

	But they would have to hurry.

	He said quietly: "Tell your 'representatives' that they have two hours in which to reach a decision, otherwise I will begin bombing your communities, at random."

	"No, please," the Human said. "We will be as quick as possible." 

	There was short pause, then it went on: "You must understand, sir, that there are those among us who are not realistic. Rather than have our race exist merely as a handful of animals in an alien zoo, they say we should fight. They would prefer, as they put it, death before dishonor—"

	"Enough! "

	The Commander felt shocked, outraged. What, he thought with a burning sense of shame, did these ... these animals know about honour? Controlling the volume of his voice with difficulty, he said:

	"Do not use that word to me again. Honour is for the higher species alone. However, I do not believe that your race can be so utterly decadent, so completely lacking in the will to survive, that they will choose wholesale suicide. You must realise that while there is life—several hundred lives in fact—there is always hope, and, conditional upon a rapid agreement to assist me, of course, I will make a further generous concession."

	I will be pleading with them next, the Commander thought bitterly. He now freely admitted to himself that the Humans had him worried, because simply, they weren't worried; at least, not enough. Could they, he asked himself, have some secret, irresistible weapon? But no, they would have used it at his first hostile action.

	The Commander pushed the growing anxiety into the back of his mind and went on:

	"I solemnly promise that, as well as the number which I said would be allowed to live, these Humans will also be allowed to breed, and a similar number of their off-spring will be allowed to live to perpetuity."

	This far I am prepared to go, the Commander thought savagely, and no farther.

	The voice from the communicator said: "Er, yes. I will inform them of your ... er ... concession at once."

	During the silence which followed, the Commander ignored the Human in the room with him, and instead listened to the reports coming in from the ships of his Fleet. Crew members going insane; crew members killing themselves; crew members forced into the utter shame of having to shed limbs that had become dead and brittle through malnutrition—the shame of being completely immobile, dependent. The Commander felt sick. And another dormitory of deep-sleeping Lednang had perished; the unshielded rays of the Sun and the baking heat of this moon's pumice-covered surface, taken together, was overloading the under-powered refrigeration units.

	Fuel was terribly scarce, but he'd have to use some anyway. He would take his Fleet up to a circum-Lunar orbit, away from that burning grey dust. It was the only answer. He was about to give the order when the communicator came to life again.

	"Mr. Murchison," it said briskly. "You may have heard of me; you may not. My job, normally, is superfluous. I tell you this so that you'll understand who I am and the necessity of giving accurate, factual information ..."

	What, thought the Commander aghast, was this?

	"... What exactly," the voice continued, "do you know about their weapons, especially the time-lag between their decision to use them—in the unlikely event of our conference voting against surrender, of course—and their arrival here?" The voice became less brisk and its timbre changed markedly. "You know how we feel about this, Mr. Murchison. the aversion we have towards all forms of violence, and towards killing. Can you believe me that even I feel the same way—strongly. But, in order to decide, the conference must know. Is there a chance of less harsh conditions—"

	"No!" the Commander interrupted harshly. "There is not! The conditions will not be deviated from. No further concessions will be made." He stopped, thinking about that voice. The tone, the method of expression, the air of authority, all sounded somehow familiar. It sounded—almost—like a Lednang. It sounded, he realised with a sudden shock of surprise, Military! With anger and anxiety battling for control of his voice he went on: "I see now that your race does have a military organisation after all, even though I've been unable to detect a single, armed surface vessel. I believe, however, that this organisation is impoverished by lack of arms and support, and completely atrophied by neglect; its echelons of command have become, I suspect, hereditary." He paused again, then deliberately raising the volume of his voice and speaking slowly and distinctly, he said: "You have taken a grave risk by using this impotent organisation as a threat to obtain further concessions.

	"I will give you the information that you seek from Murchison.

	"Should your ' representatives' be so suicidally stupid as to decide to fight, they will have approximately three of your hours to live after this decision is made known to me—two and a half hours for my drive units to become energised, and half an hour to arrive there at full acceleration. Tell your conference of this. Also tell them that I have decided to lift my ships into an orbit around your satellite and, if they have by that time decided to co-operate, this movement of my forces will not be meant as a threat towards them, If they have not decided, then ... Listen!" He flipped on the General Call switch without turning off the Translator so that the Humans on Earth could hear him.

	"To cruisers 1834 and 1298; prepare and load germ weapon projectors ! To all units; commence preparations for take-off immediately!"

	For a short time there was silence. Then:

	"General," said Murchison in a suddenly frightened voice. "Two and a half hours, then they'll scat—" 

	"Quiet!" barked the General.

	"General," came the voice of another Human on Earth. "Let me speak to it for a moment. We've got to do the right thing here. Maybe in two hours we could suggest something else, something less bloody."

	"If I am out-voted," the military Human said slowly, "Well and good."

	Definitely a very decadent race, the Commander told himself; those had not been the words of a true fighting creature. But he still felt uneasy ...

	The Human was talking again.

	"Sir. You must realise that we are an advanced race. While we have grown to abhor any form of violence, we still like a certain amount of freedom. This means that we would produce much more efficiently for you if we did so willingly, in co-operation, instead of being forced. An individual cannot be driven to using his brain ..."

	The first solar system had been a bitter disappointment. The second and third failures should have demolished his mind. But they hadn't. Somehow he'd hung on. He'd hung on while his mighty Fleet—with its starving and rotting crew—flew the interstellar night, outwardly an irresistible, shining spearhead of Empire. He had persisted stubbornly while all reason demanded that he cease. Cease making concessions to the health of his crew; cease the growing relaxation of discipline that the over-working of skeleton crews made necessary; cease, in fact, to live—while he still had a few shreds of pride, authority, and honour left to him. Honour was very important to a Lednang. But he had continued to make concessions and compromise, until ...

	This, he thought with a cold, furious anger that he had never known before, was too much.

	The Human was saying; "... We have therefore a counter-proposal to make. Instead of settling on Earth, we offer you—unconditionally—our planets Mars and Venus. With your giant ships you could ferry our men and material to these planets. The shelters you require could be built very quickly—we are expert at the high-speed construction of prefabricated parts—and we could generate the air necessary if the native atmosphere was unsuited to you. This would be an ideal arrangement for both of us, because we could produce the material you need much mot 5 quickly and efficiently if we were not subjected to the physical and psychological shock of constant contact with a completely alien life-form. There would almost certainly be friction between us otherwise.

	"If you agree to this," the Human urged, "and settle on our sister worlds, eventually the ill-feeling brought about by the casualties inflicted on us during your attack would fade. We would then he able to exchange scientific cultural knowledge; both our races would be bound to benefit enormously. Instead of master and unwilling slave, we could go forward together as friends, brothers."

	There was a point, the Commander found, where blazing, all-consuming anger stopped and was replaced by an icy, merciless calm. He passed that point with the Human's last few words. Never could a

	Lednang have been so terribly, so unbelievably insulted.

	The Lednang, brothers, with these snivelling, crawling slugs ...

	"We want only peace," the Human ended, "At almost any price. Violence, killing, is against our—"

	"I will not speak with you further," the Commander thundered in a terrible voice. "You have three hours to live."

	He had come so far, so very far. Four star systems he had tried, and nothing but disaster and black despair had met him at each one. But even now he felt strangely loath to take the honorable—and easy—way out.

	He felt a little like that ancient, legendary Tree of Lednang, when it was still immobile, still Rooted. At that time it had been beset by the atmosphere elements of wind and electrical discharge, starved of moisture, and riddled with vermin until it had been almost completely rotten. But it had survived.

	It had survived, so the legends told, because it had sloughed off the rotten Branches and fought on with the small though perfect residue.

	The moral was plain; it could be applied here. He had been too yielding, too merciful, for far too long. AH members of his crews who were in a reasonably fit condition he would collect into one or two ships, and they would go down and Seed that planet without help. It would take a long time to accomplish—and there would be many casualties—but it could be done. He knew he couldn't fail, simply because all that could happen to him had already happened; there couldn't be any more misfortune left. The rest of the Expedition—the starving, deep-sleeping and diseased Branches of his Plant—he would order away, on a course set automatically to intersect the Sun.

	But first he must clear Earth of its Humans,

	Ignoring the creature Murchison, who was sitting propped against a bulkhead watching him, he said into his communicator: 

	"Cruisers 1834 and 1298; report!"

	"Germ weapons armed and loaded as ordered, sir," the reply came promptly. "We are ready to take off—"

	At that moment the Earth missiles arrived. They rained down on the grounded Lednang fleet thickly and continuously for almost three seconds. A few had fission warheads, but most used the frightfully destructive energy of the hydrogen-helium fusion reaction. The lunar plain bubbled and boiled in the heat of the hundreds of tiny suns that blazed suddenly into life on its surface, and for hundreds of miles around the resultant ground shock-wave hammered ringwalls and mountain peaks into flat mounds of dust. Nothing was left of the Lednang fleet but a few shattered hulks embedded in the fast-cooling slag that had once been a pumice-covered plain.

	By some freak of chance his control room was undamaged, but on the Human's side of the transparent wall the air was leaking badly. The creature's voice, coming through the speaker diaphram of the helmet it had donned, grew weaker as the atmosphere which carried it grew less.

	"We are not a peaceful race, Commander. We were, until recently, the very opposite." Self disgust tinged its voice. "We fought bitterly, incessantly, amongst ourselves for centuries—and over the most paltry and stupid things. With each new war our weapons improved. The wars became more widespread, more cold-blooded, more murderously-destructive. They became so frightful that we began to grow heartily sick of war.

	"But old habits die hard.

	"We stopped fighting, but we couldn't trust each other at first—we kept on arming. One side had atomic bombs, then everyone had atomic bombs. One side succeeded in putting a spacestation up, to act as an observation and missile launching platform. Soon the other side had missiles capable of attaining orbital velocity, too. Non-nuclear weapons and weapon-carriers were by then obsolete. The first side took its idea a step further and set up a base on the Moon. The other side answered this by developing missiles capable of reaching the Moon. And so it went on.

	"None of these weapons were ever used, of course. They were stored away in safe places, but in such a way that they could be used at very short notice."

	The Human paused, bracing himself more comfortably against the crazy angle of the floor. The Commander listened dully as he continued.

	"Big cities were obvious targets for atomic attack, so decentralization was forced upon us. The cities became practically deserted. We kept spending fantastic sums just to feel secure, but naturally we never felt safe at all. Then one day we all realised how stupid it all was, and how unnecessary—"

	"But where were they hidden?" the Commander burst out, a burning curiosity momentarily lifting him out of his apathy. "I couldn't see any weapons."

	"I know," replied the Human. "That surprised us. If not actually visible, we thought they would be detectable, especially when you put all those floating camera pick-ups above our power piles. But when we found out what you are like, and the gravity you must be accustomed to at home, we realised that you would never think of looking for them where they were hidden.

	"On your home planet with its high gravity, I'd say that you don't go in for tall buildings; you must have a fear of falling—or of having something fall on you—amounting to a psychosis. You could never believe that anyone would build deeply ... underground."

	That decided him. To be beaten was bad; but to be beaten by a creature that burrowed and lived in the ground, by an insect ... The capsule was reputed to be painless.

	"We did so want to be friends with you," the Human was saying as the final paralysis crept along the Commander's limbs. "But when you decided to take your fleet into space again—making it an almost impossible target for our missiles—-we couldn't risk it. We had to hit you before you could scatter ..."

	The Commander ceased to care about or hear the Human long before it had finished talking. The Death with Honour is quick.

The End