"If there was only someone we could fight," Donnaught mourned, looking at his useless blasters. "That's the deal," Fannia said. "Guilty conscience is making sinners of us all, or something like that. They expect us to give in before the carnage gets out of hand." He considered for a moment. "It's not so crazy, actually. On Earth, armies don't usually fight until every last man is slaughtered on one side. Someone surrenders when they've had enough." "If they'd just fight _us_!" "Yeah, if they only--" He stopped. "We'll fight each other!" he said. "These people look at suicide as war. Wouldn't they look upon war--real fighting--as suicide?" "What good would that do us?" Donnaught asked. They were coming into the city now and the streets were lined with armed natives. Around the city there were thousands more. Natives were filling the plain, as far as the eye could see. Evidently they had responded to the drums and were here to do battle with the aliens. Which meant, of course, a wholesale suicide. "Look at it this way," Fannia said. "If a guy plans on suiciding on Earth, what do we do?" "Arrest him?" Donnaught asked. "Not at first. We offer him anything he wants, if he just won't do it. People offer the guy money, a job, their daughters, anything, just so he won't do it. It's taboo on Earth." "So?" "So," Fannia went on, "maybe fighting is just as taboo here. Maybe they'll offer us fuel, if we'll just stop." Donnaught looked dubious, but Fannia felt it was worth a try. * * * * * They pushed their way through the crowded city, to the entrance of the cache. The chief was waiting for them, beaming on his people like a jovial war god. "Are you ready to do battle?" he asked. "Or to surrender?" "Sure," Fannia said. "Now, Donnaught!" He swung, and his mailed fist caught Donnaught in the ribs. Donnaught blinked. "Come on, you idiot, hit me back." Donnaught swung, and Fannia staggered from the force of the blow. In a second they were at it like a pair of blacksmiths, mailed blows ringing from their armored hides. "A little lighter," Fannia gasped, picking himself up from the ground. "You're denting my ribs." He belted Donnaught viciously on the helmet. "Stop it!" the chief cried. "This is disgusting!" "It's working," Fannia panted. "Now let me strangle you. I think that might do it." Donnaught obliged by falling to the ground. Fannia clamped both hands around Donnaught's armored neck, and squeezed. "Make believe you're in agony, idiot," he said. Donnaught groaned and moaned as convincingly as he could. "You must stop!" the chief screamed. "It is terrible to kill another!" "Then let me get some fuel," Fannia said, tightening his grip on Donnaught's throat. The chief thought it over for a little while. Then he shook his head. "No." "What?" "You are aliens. If you want to do this disgraceful thing, do it. But you shall not profane our religious relics." * * * * *