“It is well, then. Come aboard, Darjeeb—unarmed and unarmored, as I am—and we will together go to confer with these visiting Lensmen of Galactic Civilization. It is understood that there will be no warfare until our return.”
“Holy Klono!” Cloud gasped. “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”
“Certainly.” Luda was surprised at the question. “Although he is an insect, and morally and ethically beneath contempt, he is, after all, a reasoning being.”
“QX.” Cloud was dumbfounded, but tried manfully not to show it.
Darjeeb came aboard. He was heavily bandaged and most of his hands were useless, but he seemed to bear no ill-will. Cloud gave orders; the ship flashed away to meet the Patrolmen.
The conference was held. The boneheads, after being taken through a superdreadnought and through a library by Lensmen as telepathic as themselves, capitulated to Civilization immediately and whole-heartedly.
“You won’t need me any more, will you, admiral?” Cloud asked then.
“I don’t think so—no. Nice job, Cloud.”
“Thanks. I’ll be on my way, then; the people I picked up must be off my ship by this time. Clear ether.”