* * * * * _We warned you_ came the cold, hard tones. _The group-mind is infinitely stronger than our individual power now that you have seen our strength will you go?_ "I've come to beg you once more," Shreve pleaded, looking up at the masked Diamoraii, astride their mounts. He had made certain all outside pickup mikes were off. "We only want to help you. Won't you let us re-direct the coming eruptions. Please!" Shreve had plumbed the depths of his mind in an attempt to find reasons for sacrificing such efforts to save the Diamoraii. The only reasons he had found he had not been able to translate--yet there was a sense of identification with the long-legged and stubborn aliens. _He wanted to save them!_ "Can't you read my thoughts?" he said, projecting truth, projecting honesty and sincerity. "Can't you see I want to help you, help your people?" They did not even bother answering. He knew their acquaintance with the truth that men of other worlds had offered. To be defeated because those who need your help had been spoiled by another race! The bitterness, the hatred, the distrust, washed over him, as the Diamorai leaned across his beast's neck, thought one snarled word: _Go_. Shreve felt the futility of everything he had done, suddenly caving in on him. He looked up into the blank stares of the masked aliens, said slowly, "We will hang above your atmosphere till you call us." He walked back to the _Wallower_. The huge plug-port closed behind him. The aliens sat astride their beasts, staring at the ship. Their minor-key whoops of victory rang and bounced in the jungle's treetops as they swung their mounts roughly, dug boney knees into their sides, and careened into the multi-colored vastness. The Diamoraii had won again! * * * * * The _Wallower_ spun slowly in space, the eternal dust of the universe lapping at her ports. Below her, enveloped by clouds of steam, the planet Diamore blasted and erupted and screamed and belched and tore itself apart. Luther Shreve sat before the control console, staring with almost hypnotized attention at the view-plates. He watched the world die. His face was hard and unyielding. He had refused entrance even to Teller, barring everyone from the control room. At every eruption, with each fissure that opened wide enough to be seen from that fantastic height, he felt a strange sinking in his heart. His throat was dry, and there was an odd pressure behind his eyes. He watched silently, every once in a while letting the thought _They didn't know when to ask for help_ filter through his mind. * * * * * The Group of Deciders huddled in the blasted Council Hall. The floor--what was left of the inlaid tiles--shivered and heaved. Beyond the twisted lattices of the windows they could hear the mighty rending of the planet as it opened and swallowed all that stood.