"But that isn't the point," Wolverton went on, his voice mellow and persuasive. "Rabbits maintain a fairly balanced ecology because they're more subject to natural forces which we humans ignore or circumvent. We change environment to meet our needs--and in those rare instances where environment changes us, we adapt to it and change ourselves. Take Samar for example, normally a human being is monogamous either by nature or by law--but what happens when women outnumber men?" I stiffened. I had heard of Samar from traders and from the Word itself. "Samar," I said, "is a disgrace--a sink of iniquity--a foul blot upon the face--" "Oh stop it," he said wearily. "You can't blame environmental forces. Nor can you blame men for adapting to them. Sure, you can point with holy horror at Samarian social customs, but even so, they aren't as bad as your ancestors'. They don't murder excess girls." "They should," I retorted brutally. "The old days were harsh, but they were necessary. One man must cleave to one mate. The Word demands it. Polygamy must be stamped out at the source if Faith is to survive. "But it did no good population-wise," Wolverton said. "You're now exceeding safe growth limits for your territories. That's why you want mine." "Lies," I muttered. "Not at all. And you know it. Your people already _want_ my land. Soon you will _need_ it. And in a few centuries, _you won't be able to exist without it_!" His voice was flat with certainty. * * * * * "Lies," I said, but my voice wasn't as certain as his. I had seen the crowding in the towns and fields of Promised Land, and we _did_ need Wolverton's Holding to absorb good farmers who had no land to farm. Wolverton was right about that. We had lived up our naturally tillable acreage and reclamation projects were slow to provide needed soil. Deviants were already appearing who defied the Word by advocating birth control. Yet the Word said, "_Be fruitful and replenish the land._" "Back in the Dark Ages on a planet known as Earth," Wolverton went on inexorably, "a man named Malthus predicted our birth rate would fight a losing battle with famine. So far we have managed to avoid it by laws, by finding new frontiers, and by improving food technology. But laws and technology can only retard the growth, and frontiers are getting even harder to find. Time is catching up with us." "I don't see--", I said. Wolverton looked at me grimly. "I know you don't," he said. "I haven't made the slightest impression." "You've made an impression, all right," I assured him with equal grimness. He shrugged. "There are all kinds of impressions," he commented wryly, "and not all of them are good." "Yours has not been," I said boldly. "I place my trust in Zard, not in the voice of Evil."