He submits.

Time was up. He saw the green plant people approaching the rover. The ground started to shake left and right. The rover rocked side to side before the natives even touched it. This time the earthquake in the hills felt every bit as rough as it had in the snowy plains, maybe worse. Snipher suddenly recognized the moment where the rover's balanced left-right wobble changed to a motion, a rotation. It was tipping over. He realized it was too late to fasten a safety belt and landed on the side window as it cracked against the rough ground. The metal roof supports had already been strained too much and gave way. Deciding how to overpower a superior army of wild animals was close enough to a no-win situation, but an earthquake? That was too much for him. He gave up. He knew this would be a good time for a higher power to give him a sign. Time was up.

He leapt out of the openings in the cracked windshield and began swinging his two new weapons in figure-eights on either side. The natives got the idea and backed up from him. He shouted and growled at them. He followed the opening they were gave him. His arms soon became too tired to keep swinging his weapons. He noticed they were routing him, like a pack of wolves might do to their next meal. He followed where they allowed him for a short distance along an unfamiliar path, until they led him to her.

Fighting for his life, maximum shrinkage

Only the woman who had emasculated his beard earlier seemed to think his weapons impotent.

"Don't kill me!" he shouted to her (clearly their leader), swinging the two clubs wildly.

"You speak English!" she blurted and took a step back.

"I... You see... There's a ... The expedition you," he stammered. Where was he to begin? There were easily a dozen things he had to get across after, "Don't kill me."

It showed clearly on her face that her estimate of his intelligence and literacy was rapidly declining as his disjointed partial sentences dribbled out of his mouth.

"Bind him," she told the others with a shrug of her shoulders as if she was trying to keep him from hurting himself until she could figure out what to do with him.

"No, don't. I can speak. I really can talk," he begged.

She told him, "That is what we call an Informed Attribute, not a demonstrated one."

Somehow he had to impress her to show he was a man from a technologically advanced civilization, not just a meal animal. He knew it would sound a bit melodramatic, but it was sincere to say, "I do not intend to become a corpse for you to feed on!" But then he realized **** would come for him some day, so his conviction was not as ironclad as he had tried to sound.

"You are conflicted and weak of spirit," she said, sounding objective, not insulting, "Put down your decorations."

Despite the lighter gravity of this planetoid, his arms were giving out before they had hit anyone. His weapons sagged to touch the ground, but he was definitely not putting them down. It occurred to him how naked he was at the moment. His wrist devices and mop were back at the MEMS cannister, so he could not contact any of his technologies which could even up this fight. He waited a few breaths for her to make the next move.

And move she did. He thought for certain she was stepping in to kiss him, but she slapped his gonads with one hand and his chest with the other, dropping him to the ground, helpless.

... dropping him to the ground ...

She knelt by him. "Listen. Mallory planted two bodies like yours when she arrived. We did not make them dead. She offered them to us."

"They died in the landing?" he asked, hoping she would listen to him if he followed where she lead the conversation.

"That is what I have heard," the leader said, looking to the other plant woman.

The other woman said, "The people like you - we became self aware after consuming their waste. Bodies, hair, dead skin. People like you provided our only intelligence food. We call you brain-food. We can feed you trimmed herbs to make your hair grow longer faster. And herbal juices to make your male fluid replenish much faster," and looked his body up and down for nutritious hairs and fluids.

"Thank you," he said with interest in that last part. Wasn't every man wanting more potency?

Several of the males of the hunting party smirked with immature humor.

He shakily stood again, with the fight drained out of him.

She added, "Don't be too thankful. You still will be incapable of multiple orgasm. We cannot chemically fix that deficiency of the male despite many attempts."

That quieted the males, putting them back in their submissive place in the pecking order.

Negotiations?

Snipher had to ask, "So just for the record, you don't intend to kill me?"

"Are there others of you?" the leader asked, conspicuously not answering his question, yet.