"In the holy shrine?" the chief exclaimed, shocked. "The tall metal church which the gods left here long ago?"
"Yeah," Fannia said sadly, knowing what was coming. "I guess that's it."
"It is sacrilege for an outworlder to go near it," the chief said. "I forbid it."
"We need the fuel." Fannia was getting tired of sitting cross-legged. Space armor wasn't built for complicated postures. "The spire was put here for such emergencies."
"Strangers, know that I am god of my people, as well as their leader. If you dare approach the sacred temple, there will be war."
"I was afraid of that," Fannia said, getting to his feet.
"And since we are a race of warriors," the chief said, "at my command, every fighting man of the planet will move against you. More will come from the hills and from across the rivers."
Abruptly, the chief drew a knife. It must have been a signal, because every native in the room did the same.
Fannia dragged Donnaught away from the toys. "Look, lummox. These friendly warriors can't do a damn thing to us. Those knives can't cut space armor, and I doubt if they have anything better. Don't let them pile up on you, though. Use the paralyzer first, the needler if they really get thick."