have you considered defense?" He paused.
"Not all races who travel in space are friendly. A few are starkly
inimical, hating all other forms of life. Could you defend yourselves,
Honorable Sirs, against such?"

It was obvious from the speed of the answer that the Council of Mureess
had considered, if not anticipated this question. The second member
spoke, an obvious pre-assignment.

"In all our long history, you are our first contact with star
travelers. Yet we are not defenseless. The Great Mother contains not
only food, fish and plants which we harvest, but many strong and
terrible beasts. Very few are left to disturb us. In addition, the
implications of your ship have not escaped us, and our scientists are
even now adapting some of our atomic devices used in mining to other
ends." The voice contained a faint hint of pride as it ended. We got
guns, too, buddy, it said, and we ain't pushovers.

The First of the Council spoke again. "Let me be plain, Respected
Star-farers. It seems obvious to us that you have learned most of what
we represent as a council, if not all. We are the heads of the Great
Clans and we will not change. It hardly seems likely that you represent
a society based on heredity if you include the diverse and nameless
breeds of creature you have shown us on your screens. We do not want
such an amalgam on our world causing unrest and disturbances of public
order. Still less do we desire authoritarian interference with the
ordered life we have developed. Your requests are one and severally
refused. There will be no 'observer.' Trade, regulated by us, will be
welcome. Otherwise, should you choose not to be bound by our laws, we
must respectfully and finally bid you farewell. When at some future
date, we develop ships such as yours, we may reconsider." The speaker
paused, looked at his three confreres, who nodded silently. The First
stared arrogantly at Mazechazz, and continued.

"Finally, we have decided to place a ban on further landings by aliens
unless you are now prepared to negotiate a trade agreement on our
terms!"

Powers thought frantically, his face motionless. This was defeat, stark
and unequivocal. The parable he had in mind seemed indicated now or
never. He turned to Sakh Mazechazz, and spoke.

"May I have your permission to address the Honored Council, Noble
Captain?" he asked.

"Speak, First Officer," said the Lyran, his gular pouches throbbing.
His ruby eyes, to his associate, loo