"Yes, indeed. A race with the will to live is far superior to a race with a will like a bunch of cattle. They will rise high."
"Vorgan, you may have my throat for this, but I feel that it is a shame that we could not have them as equals."
"That would never work."
"I know it wouldn't. But it is a shame. I feared the landing here, Vorgan. The place is rife with spores, fungi, and bacterial death. But their weapons scoured the area."
"The fools."
"I know—but we are safe now. Terra is conquered."
"Then as soon as possible, bring me the ones I want."
"Lord of All, you will have them."
The air above Terra grew less turbulent, the energy died. Loard-vogh ships found less opposition as they landed at will on the former Planet of Terror. By hundreds and by thousands they landed—and by thousands they died as they tried to flip back their helmets and breathe the air of Terra. They turned black, they fell down, and the growths of ravaging microscopic life raced and built into horrid green mold and whispy hair as the growths of fungus found absolutely no opposition.