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."

* * * * *

Donnaught and Fannia staggered to their feet. Fannia was exhausted from
fighting in the heavy space armor; he barely made it up.

"Now," the chief said, "surrender at once. Take off your armor or do
battle with us."

The thousands of warriors--possibly millions, because more were arriving
every second--shouted their blood-wrath. The cry was taken up on the
outskirts and echoed to the hills, where more fighting men were pouring
down into the crowded plain.

Fannia's face contorted. He couldn't give himself and Donnaught up to
the Cascellans. They might be cooked at the next church supper. For a
moment he considered going after the fuel and letting the damned fools
suicide all they pleased.

His mind an angry blank, Fannia staggered forward and hit the chief in
the face with a mailed glove.

The chief went down, and the natives backed away in horror. Quickly, the
chief snapped out a knife and brought it up to his throat. Fannia's
hands closed on the chief's wrists.

"Listen to me," Fannia croaked. "We're going to take that fuel. If any
man makes a move--if anyone kills himself--I'll kill your chief."

The natives milled around uncerta