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“No,” the chief said. “You started the battle. It must go to its conclusion. Brave men wish to die in battle. It is our fondest wish. You are the first enemy we have had in many years, since we subdued the mountain tribes.”

“Sure,” Fannia said. “But let’s talk about it–“

“I myself will fight you,” the chief said, holding up a dagger. “I will die for my people, as a warrior must!”

“Hold it!” Fannia shouted. “Grant us a truce. We are allowed to fight only by sunlight. It is a tribal taboo.”

The chief thought for a moment, then said, “Very well. Until tomorrow.”

The beaten Earthmen walked slowly back to their ship amid the jeers of the victorious populace.

* * * * *

Next morning, Fannia still didn’t have a plan. He knew that he had to have fuel; he wasn’t planning on spending the rest of his life on Cascella, or waiting until the Galactic Survey sent another ship, in fifty years or so. On the other hand, he hesitated at the idea of being responsible for the death of anywhere up to three billion people. It wouldn’t be a very good record to take to Thetis. The Galactic Survey might find out about it. Anyway, he just wouldn’t do it.

He was stuck both ways.

Slowly, the two men walked out to meet the chief. Fannia was still searching wildly for an idea while listening to the drums booming.

“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!”