their enemies into capitulation."

"They must be nuts," Donnaught grumbled. "That's no way to fight."

"It works, doesn't it?" Fannia got up and stared out a porthole. The sun
was setting, painting the city a charming red in its glow. The beams of
light glistened off the spire of the Galactic cache. Through the open
doorway they could hear the boom and rattle of drums. "Tribal call to
arms," Fannia said.

"I still say it's crazy." Donnaught had some definite ideas on fighting.
"It ain't human."

"I'll buy that. The idea seems to be that if enough people slaughter
themselves, the enemy gives up out of sheer guilty conscience."

"What if the enemy doesn't give up?"

"Before these people united, they must have fought it out tribe to
tribe, suiciding until someone gave up. The losers probably joined the
victors; the tribe must have grown until it could take over the planet
by sheer weight of numbers." Fannia looked carefully at Donnaught,
trying to see if he understood. "It's anti-survival, of course; if
someone didn't give up, the race would probably kill themselves." He
shook his head. "But war of any kind is anti-survival. Perhaps they've
got rules."

"Couldn't we just barge in and grab the fuel quick?" Donnaught asked.
"And get out before they all killed themselves?"

"I don't think so," Fannia said. "They might go on committing suicide
for the next ten years, figuring they were still fighting us." He looked
thoughtfully at the city. "It's that chief of theirs. He's their god and
he'd probably keep them suiciding until he was the only man left. Then
he'd grin, say, 'We are great warriors,' and kill himself."

Donnaught shrugged his big shoulders in disgust. "Why don't we knock him
off?"

"They'd just elect another god." The sun was almost below the horizon
now. "I've got an idea, though," Fannia said. He scratched his head. "It
might work. All we can do is try."

* * * * *

At midnight, the two men sneaked out of the ship, moving silently into
the city. They were both dressed in space armor again. Donnaught carried
two empty fuel cans. Fannia had his paralyzer out.

The streets were dark and silent as they slid along walls and around
posts, keeping out of sight. A native turned a corner suddenly, but
Fannia paralyzed him before he could make a sound.

They crouched in the darkness, in the mouth of an alley facing the
cache.

"Have you got it straight?" Fannia asked. "I