"They'll work."
"Then let's get going. The Little Guys are tearing their hair as it is."
Thompson nodded.
"But look," said Downing, "don't rip up any dymodines ahead. Convert slowly. If the catmen attack, we'll need all we can muster to fight 'em off."
"Right."
"And as for Cliff Lane—he isn't dead until we prove it, see? So far as I know, he might be getting an education in cat-culture right now."
Thompson looked at Downing for a long time, saying nothing. Then he turned and left, still without comment.
Cliff Lane and his ship were herded down to the ground. His ship was surrounded by the six catmen, their beams pointed at him, waiting. For an hour they waited, using all the patience of the feline. It got on the nerves of the humans, and they wanted to do something.
Their trouble was that they didn't quite know what to do.