This is impossible for a lot of reasons—most important, because the Nyjorders would like to keep their planet for their very own. They have tried every kind of compromise but none of them works. The Disans are out to commit racial suicide. A Nyjord fleet is now over Dis and the deadline has almost expired for the surrender of the cobalt bombs. The Nyjord ships carry enough H-bombs to turn the entire planet into an atomic pile. That is what we must stop.”

Brion looked at the solido on the screen, trying to make some judgment of the man. Bare, homey feet. A bulky, ragged length of cloth around the waist was the only garment. What looked like a piece of green vine was hooked over one shoulder. From a plaited belt were suspended a number of odd devices made of hand-beaten metal, drilled stone and looped leather. The only recognizable item was a thin knife of unusual design. Loops of piping, flared bells, carved stones tied in senseless patterns of thonging gave the rest of the collection a bizarre appearance. Perhaps they had some religious significance But the well-worn and handled look of most of them gave Brion an uneasy sensation. If they were used—what in the universe could they be used for?

“I can’t believe it,” he finally concluded. “Except for the exotic hardware, this lowbrow looks as if he has sunk back into the Stone Age. I don’t see how his kind can be any real threat to another planet.”

“The Nyjorders believe it, and that’s good enough for me,” Ihjel said. “They are paying our Cultural Relationships Foundation a good sum to try and prevent this war. Since they are our employers, we must do what they ask,” Brion ignored this large lie, since it was obviously designed as an explanation for Lea. But he made a mental note to query Ihjel later about the real situation.

“Here are the tech reports.” Ihjel dropped them on the table. “Dis has some spacers as well as the cobalt bombs—though these aren’t the real threat.