"We don't mind a little fighting--within reason. And, of course, as Qornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rush things?" "I have a suggestion," Magnan said. "Why not turn the reins of government over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group." "What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always one among us who's a slave to instinct--and, naturally, we have to follow him." "Why?" "Because that's the way it's done." "Why not do it another way?" Magnan offered. "Now, I'd like to suggest community singing--" "If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what would happen?" "Live too long?" Magnan looked puzzled. "When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, with the new Qornt stepping on our heels--" "I've lost the thread," Magnan said. "Who are the new Qornt?" "After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course. The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosize into Verpp--" "You mean Slun and Zubb--the mild-natured naturalists--will become warmongers like Qorn?" "Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the old saying goes." "What do Qornt turn into?" Retief asked. "Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood." "Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways?" Magnan asked. "What about taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?" "Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport to sit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashing off to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. But we prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling you Terrestrials over on Guzzum--that was a mad notion. We had no idea what your strength was." "But now that's all off, of course," Magnan chirped. "Now that we've had diplomatic relations and all--" "Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we're Qornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action." "But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!" "Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even if he orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the other Centers--all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion is definitely on." "Why don't you go invade somebody else?" Magnan suggested. "I could name some very attractive prospects--outside my sector, of course." "Hold everything," Retief said. "I think we've got the basis of a deal here...." V At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retief and Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDT Sector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged, flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white. "Curious," Magnan commented. "I wonder what the significance of the white ensign might be?"