The sag-suited men of Weald went zestfully about their business.  They took over the landing-grid’s operation, driving the Darian operators away.  For the first time in history the operators of a landing-grid wore make-up to look like they did have blue pigment in their skins.  They didn’t.  The Wealdian landing-party tested the grid’s operation.  They brought down another giant ship.  Then another.  And another.

Parties in the shiny sag-suits spread through the city.  There were the huge stockpiles of precious metals, brought in readiness to be surrendered and carried away.  Some men set to work to load these into the holds of the ships of Weald.  Some went forthrightly after personal loot.

They came upon very few Darians.  Those they saw kept sullenly away from them.  They entered shops and took what they fancied.  They zestfully removed the treasure of banks.

Triumphant and scornful reports went up to the hovering great ships.  The blueskins, said the reports, were spiritless and cowardly.  They permitted themselves to be robbed.  They kept out of the way.  It had been observed that the population was streaming out of the city, fleeing because they feared the ships’ landing-parties.  The blueskins had abjectly produced all they’d promised of precious metals, but there was more to be taken.

More ships came down, and more.  Some of the first, heavily loaded, were lifted to emptiness again and the process of decontamination of their hulls began.  There was jealousy among the ships in space for those upon the ground.  The first-landed ships had had their choice of loot.  There were squabblings about priorities, now that the navy of Weald plainly had a license to steal.  There was confusion among the members of the landing-parties.  Discipline disappeared.  Men in plastic sag-suits roved about as individuals, seeking what they might loot.

There were armed and alerted landing-parties around the grid itself, of course, but the capital city of Dara lay open.  Men coming back with loot found their ships already lifted off to make room for others.  They were pushed into re-embarking-parties of other ships.  There were more and more men to be found on ships where they did not belong, and more and more not to be found where they did.

By the time half the fleet had been aground, there was no longer any pretense of holding a ship down until all its crew returned.  There were too many other ships’ companies clamoring for their turn to loot.  The rosters of many ships, indeed, bore no particular relationship to the men actually on board.

There were less than fifteen ships whose to-be-fumigated holds were still emptied, when the watchful government of Dara broadcast a new message to the invaders.  It requested that the looting stop.  No matter what payment Weald claimed, it had taken payment five times over.  Now was time to stop.

It was amusing.  The space admiral of Weald ordered his ships alerted for action.  The message ship, ordering the Darian fleet away from Weald, had been sent off long since.  No other ship could get away now!  The Darians could take their choice:  accept the consequences of surrender, or the fleet would rise to throw down bombs.