For almost an hour he fed data into the monitor tapes. Then he touched a stud and closed his eyes, waiting for judgment. "Agricultural family-group societies are normally stagnant," the monitor droned. "Such cultures, regardless of technological level, do not warrent inhibition of any type. Reference: twelfth generation check on Eden V." The room spun. Saxon whispered, "But they have cybernetics, matter transmitters." "Regardless of technological level." The monitor was adamant. This was madness. Saxon wiped his forehead and said, "Assuming geographical isolation no barrier to united group action in the event of emergency." "United action is incompatible with family-group." "Assume and advise!" Relays chattered. Abruptly the entire panel flashed crimson. The monitor spoke one word. "_Annihilation._" Saxon referred to his Inhibition handbook. He had never annihilated a culture before. One hour later he went into the forest. Birds sang overhead. The sun dappled him in light and shadow. He stalked a small furry quadruped that squealed at him from a log and brought it down with his sonic pistol. Back in the lifeboat he watched the animal regain consciousness in an air-tight tank, and very slowly he pulled a lever. A green vapor rolled into the tank. The quadruped screamed. The green vapor fed. It was the penultimate in sporedom, yet it was more than a spore. It had virus characteristics, and its propagation rate was almost mathematically impossible. There was no known defense, and once used, the entire planet was forever untouchable. To Saxon's knowledge it had been utilized only once on Eden I. At dusk, he took the lifeboat up fifty miles. He released the spores in a widening spiral, and finally jettisoned the tank. He went into an orbit at ten thousand miles, and waited. It would take approximately a week. It was a long week. Saxon slept little. He paced the cabin. He looked at the stars and thought about a blue-eyed waif with tears in her voice, begging him to stay. After a week the lifeboat came down at the edge of a grassy plain. Saxon took a sample of the contaminated atmosphere to determine propagation rate. The atmosphere was pure. Some freak of expansion. One uncontaminated spot in a hemisphere of death. He selected another location. Then another. That evening he close the coordinates of his original landing site and tested the air again. Finally he went outside the airlock. He breathed deeply, and the air was fresh and sweet, it smelled of forest and cool streams and evening dew. In the blue dusk birds twittered. A small marsupial very much like a squirrel scampered to the safety of a tree and scolded him. Saxon began walking. At the edge of the forest he saw the familiar plowed field. The farmhouse was a friendly beacon in the twilight. "Hello," Veena said. She stood at the edge of the forest. She was smiling. "Welcome home, rover."