"I will be gone for some time," he said somberly. "The Council feels that it will be two or three years before we have finally driven the Invaders from our planet. This will not be a simple war, nor an easy one. The blockade of orbital ships which encircle Xedii keep us from making proper contact with any friends that we may have outside the circle of influence of the damned Invaders. We are, at the moment, fighting alone. And yet, in spite of that--in _spite_ of that, I say--we have thus far held the enemy at a standstill. And, in the long run, we shall win." He took a deep breath then, and his baritone voice thundered out when he spoke. [Illustration] "_Shall_ win? No! We _must_ win! None of you want to become slaves in the factories of the Invaders. I know that, and you know it. Who among you would slave your life away in the sweatshops of the Invaders, knowing that those for whom you worked might, at any time, simply deprive you of your livelihood at their own whim, since they feel no sense of responsibility toward you as individuals?" Again The Chief stopped, and his eyes sought out each man in turn. "If there are any such among you, I renounce you at this moment. If there are any such, I ask ... nay, I plead ... I _order_ ... I order you to go immediately to the Invaders." Another deep breath. No one moved. "You have all heard the propaganda of the Invaders. You know that they have offered you--well, what? Freedom? Yes, that's the way they term it. Freedom." Another pause. "Freedom. _Hah!_" He put his hands on his hips. "None of you have ever seen a really regimented society--and I'm thankful that you haven't. I hope that you never will." Chief Samas twisted his lips into an expression of hatred. "Freedom? Freedom from _what_! Freedom to _do_ what? "I'll tell you. Freedom to work in their factories for twelve hours a day! Freedom to work until you are no longer of any use to them, and then be turned out to die--with no home, and no food to support you. Freedom to live by yourselves, with every man's hand against you, with every pittance that you earn taxed to support a government that has no thought for the individual! "Is that what you want? Is that what you've worked for all your lives?" A visual chorus of shaken heads accompanied the verbal chorus of "No." Chief Samas dropped his hands to his sides. "I thought not. But I will repeat: If any of you want to go to the Invaders, you may do so now." Anketam noticed a faint movement to his right, but it stopped before it became decisive. He glanced over, and he noticed that young Basom was standing there, half poised, as though unable to make up his mind. Then The Chief's voice bellowed out again. "Very well. You are with me. I will leave the work of the barony in your hands. I ask that you produce as much as you can. Next year--next spring--we will not plant _cataca_."