"The beast!" Lola shot a tight-beam thought at her husband. "Who cares anything about the rock and dirt of a _planet_? It's the people that count and his are dead and he's perfectly _complaisant_ about it--just _lonesome_!" "Don't let it throw you, pet," James soothed. "He's an Arpalone, you know; not a sociological anthropologist." "... shouldn't come out here and spend a few hours once in a while, but they don't. Too busy with their own business, they say. But while you are physically human, mentally you are not. You're all too ... too ... I can't put my thought exactly on it, but ... more as though you were human fighters, if such a thing could be possible." "We are fighters. Where we come from, most human beings are fighters." "Oh? I never heard of such a thing. Where can you be from?" This took much explanation, since the Arpalone had never heard of inter-galactic travel. "You are willing, then, to fight side by side with us Arpalones against the enemies of humanity? You have actually done so, at times, and won?" "We certainly have." "I am glad. I am expecting a call for help any time now. Will you please give me enough of your mental pattern, Doctor Garlock, so that I can call you in case of need? Thank you." "What makes you think you're going to get an S.O.S. so soon? Where from?" "Because these Ozobe invasions come in cycles, years apart, but there are always several planets attacked at very nearly the same time. We were the first, this time; so there will be one or two others very shortly." "Do they always ... kill all the people?" Lola asked. "Oh, no. Scarcely half of the time. Depends on how many fighters the planet has, and how much outside help can get there soon enough." "Your call could come from any of the other solar systems in this neighborhood, then?" Garlock asked. "Yes. There are fifteen inhabited planets within about six light-years of us, and we form a close-knit group." "What are these Ozobes?" "Animals. Warm-blooded, but egg-layers, not mammals. Like this," and the Inspector spread in their minds a picture of a creature somewhat like the flying tigers of Hodell, except that the color was black, shading off to iridescent green at the extremities. Also, it was armed with a short and heavy, but very sharp, sting. "They say that they come from space, but I don't believe it," the old fellow went on. "What would a warm-blood be doing out in space? Besides, they couldn't find anybody to lay their eggs in out there. No, sir, I think they live right here on Groobe somewhere, maybe holed up in caves or something for ten or thirteen years ... but that wouldn't make sense, either, would it? I just don't know...." * * * Garlock finally broke away from the lonesome Inspector and the _Pleiades_ started down.