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Fundamentally that was the only thing that counted: to preserve this world from the impact of civilization.

Then suddenly, as he listened to the music of the stream, Lord saw how that could be done. Ann Howard had offered him a deal; she would keep her word. Everything hinged on that.

Don Howard had to be brought back–if persuasion failed, then by force.

Martin Lord ran back to the clearing. From a supply shed he took a pair of deadly atomic pistols. Their invisible, pin-point knife of exploding energy could slice through eighteen feet of steel, transform a mountain into a cloud of radioactive dust.

He ran through the forest to the village. As usual, the children were playing games on the grass, while the adults lounged in front of their dwellings or enjoyed community singing and dancing to the pulsing rhythm of their music. The sound of gaiety suddenly died as Lord walked between the rows of houses.

Strange, he thought; they seemed to guess what was in his mind. Niaga ran from the quiet crowd and took his hand.

“No, Martin Lord; you must not interfere!”

“Where’s Howard?”

“He is a free man; he has a right to choose–“

“I’m going to take him back.” He drew one of his guns. She looked at him steadily, without fear, and she said,

“We made you welcome; we have given you our friendship, and now you–“

He pushed her aside brutally because her gentleness, her lack of anger, tightened the constriction of his own sense of guilt. Lord fired his weapon at the trunk of a tree. The wood flamed red for a moment and the sound of the explosion rocked the air, powdering the grass with black ash.

“This is the kind of power controlled by men,” he said. His voice was harsh, shrill with shame and disgust for the role he had to play. “I shall use this weapon to destroy your homes–each of them, one by one–unless you surrender Don Howard to me.”

As he turned the pistol slowly toward the closest yellow wall, Niaga whispered, “Violence is a violation of the law of humanity. We offered Don Howard sanctuary and peace–as we offer it to all of you. Stay with us, Martin Lord; make your home here.”

He clenched his jaw. “I want Don and I want him now!”

“But why must you go back? Your world is powerful; your world is enormous with cities and machines. But what does it hold for you as a man, Martin Lord? Here we give you the dreams of your own soul, peace and beauty, laughter and dignity.”

“Surrender, Don!” Although he was vaguely aware of it, he had no time to consider consciously the strangely sophisticated wording of her argument. When she continued to talk in the same gentle voice, the temptation caressed his mind like a narcotic; against his will, the tension began to wash from his muscles. Driven by a kind of madness to escape the sound of her voice, he pulled the trigger. The yellow wall exploded. Concussion throbbed in his ears, deafening him–but he still heard her whisper in the depths of his soul, like the music of a forest stream.

* * * * *

Then, at the end of the village street, he saw Don Howard coming out of one of the houses with his hands held high.

“You win, Lord; leave them alone.”

It was victory, but Lord felt no triumph–only a crushing bitterness. He motioned Howard to take the path back to the ship. To Niaga he said,

“If your council of elders ever gets around to meeting, you might tell them that, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already signed the trade treaty with me. We’re leaving in the morning to register the franchise.”

“You’d break your own law? You said the negotiations had to be–“

“Our men will come shortly to build the first trade city. I advise you not to resist them; they’ll be armed with guns more powerful than mine.”