“I don’t know,” Cloud confessed, “but it wouldn’t do any harm to try, would it?” “Probably not. We’ll try.” All the way out Cloud pondered ways and means. As they neared the onrushing fleet he thought at Luda: “Darjeeb is undoubtedly with that fleet. He knows that this is the only inertialess ship in this part of space. He wants it more than anything else in the universe. Now if we could only make him listen to reason . . . if we could make him see. . . .” He broke off. No soap. You couldn’t explain “green” to a man born blind. These folks didn’t know and wouldn’t believe what real firepower was. The weakest vessel in this oncoming task force could blast both of these boneheads’ fleets into a radiant gas in fifteen seconds flat—and the superdreadnoughts’ primaries would be starkly incredible to both Luda and Darjeeb. They simply _had_ to be seen in action to be believed; and then it would be too late. These people didn’t stand the chance of a bug under a sledgehammer, but they’d have to be killed before they’d believe it. A damned shame, too. The joy, the satisfaction, the real advancement possible only through cooperation with each other and with the millions of races of Galactic Civilization—if there were only some means of _making_ them believe. . . . “We—and they—_do_ believe.” Luda broke into his somber musings. “Huh? What? You do? You were listening?” “Certainly. At your first thought I put myself en rapport with Darjeeb, and he and our peoples listened to your thoughts.” “But . . . you really believe me?” “We all believe. Some will cooperate, however, only as far as it will serve their own ends to do so. Your Lensmen will undoubtedly have to kill that insect Darjeeb and others of his kind in the interest of lasting peace.” The insulted Nhalian drove in a protesting thought, but Luda ignored it and went on: “You think, then, Tellurian, that your Lensmen can cope with even such as Darjeeb of Nhal?” “I’ll say they can!” “It is well, then. Come aboard, Darjeeb—unarmed and unarmored, as I am—and we will together go to confer with these visiting Lensmen of Galactic Civilization. It is understood that there will be no warfare until our return.” “Holy Klono!” Cloud gasped. “He wouldn’t do _that_, would he?” “Certainly.” Luda was surprised at the question. “Although he is an insect, and morally and ethically beneath contempt, he is, after all, a reasoning being.” “QX.” Cloud was dumbfounded, but tried manfully not to show it. Darjeeb came aboard. He was heavily bandaged and most of his hands were useless, but he seemed to bear no ill-will. Cloud gave orders; the ship flashed away to meet the Patrolmen. The conference was held. The boneheads, after being taken through a superdreadnought and through a library by Lensmen as telepathic as themselves, capitulated to Civilization immediately and whole-heartedly. “You won’t need me any more, will you, admiral?” Cloud asked then. “I don’t think so—no. Nice job, Cloud.”