The boat made a landing at the building where Planter had first been dragged to slavery. It was not made for defense, and the invaders split into small parties, ranging the corridors and outer bridges. Planter, hurrying downstairs, heard the _spat_ of the Skygor pen-missiles, with the replying crackle of gunfire. After a while, Mara and other girls began to shout and chatter. They had also found a boat and had come over. On the floor, above the basement where the slaves worked, he came face to face with a Skygor, who lifted his arms appealingly, in the surrender gesture that must be universal among all creatures who have arms. "I want no fight," begged this one. "You are master." "Then come downstairs," snapped Planter. He clattered down, among the slaves. "Stop work!" he bawled, almost as loudly as a Skygor, and the men, bred to obey big voices, did so. "Outside!" was Planter's next command. One or two moved to obey, others hung back. "Outside," the surrendered Skygor echoed Planter, and they came obediently. Planter hurried them to their quarters, then slammed the door to the big workshop. "That closes down your power plants," he commented to the Skygor. "Now, quick! Which way to the controls of the dam?" "Dam?" the Skygor repeated stupidly. Planter caught the green shoulders and shook the creature roughly. It was larger than he, but cowered. "I will show," it yielded, and led him away. In a nearby corridor were huge handles, three of them, like pivoted clinker-bars. Planter seized one, pulled it down. He heard waters roaring. He pulled another. "You will drain the pool," protested the Skygor. "I want to drain the pool," Planter said. "Then--" The Skygor caught the third lever and pulled it down. Planter hurried upstairs again. His prisoner kept at his heels. "Why did you help me?" he asked it. "Because you conquer," was the booming reply. "The conquered must obey." "I think you believe that stuff, like the slaves," Planter sniffed. "Of course, I believe," responded the Skygor. From the upper levels came Hommerson's voice: "Planter! These frog-folk are giving up! They haven't any fight left in them!" But Planter paused, on a landing. He looked into a small office, where two human figures stood close together. One was Max. The other was Disbro. Max had Disbro by the throat, not shaking or wrestling him. Only squeezing. "Max!" called Planter. "Why--" "Why not?" countered Max plausibly. "Planter, I think maybe you were the thick-headed one. You always tried to get along with Disbro, as if he was honest. I was a crazy-house case, but from the first I knew he was wrong. It took the return of sense to understand that the only thing to do was this." He let go, and Disbro fell on the floor like an empty suit of clothes. Max brushed his hands together, as if to clear them of dust. "I wonder how long I've wanted to do that," he said. "Let's go up and watch the final mop-up." * * * * *