Years back, when Bob was still an irresponsible slacker, he was flying a quartet of groupies – one blonde, one brunet, one ginger, and one raven – to Tenerife for a weekend of sensual abandon. En route he noticed a largish island in the mid-Atlantic which not only was not on the map, but was apparently invisible to his companions, though not him. Curious, he made a detour. The island (which I’ll call Avalon for no special reason) had fabulous mineral wealth and was inhabited by two anthropoid species: the *Vanyar *and the mangani. The Vanyar were a race of beautiful long-lifers, all geniuses by human standards, living in a shining city on a hill; they had marvelous tech not merely controlled but actually powered by their telepathic powers, which they also use to hide Avalon fron the world. The mangani were ape-folk, looking very like chimpanzees, but much more peaceful, and while they’re able to talk and use simple tools, they had an average IQ of about 60. The two races lived in harmony. Avalon, incidentally, had fabulous mineral wealth-- vibranium, dilithium, and a couple other varieties of unobtainium–found nowhere else on Earth.
Once Bob killed a dragon that had been having the mangani for lunch, he and his fuckbuddies were invited to spend their weekend of carnal excess on Avalon. During this time he learned that, with the dragon gone, the mangani were likely to thrive (current population about 20,000), the Vanyar were dwindling, their numbers under fifty. The Vanyar’s leader asked him to look after the mangani once the last of the Vanyar were gone. It was important that the mangani not be separated from one another; a lone mangani dies of loneliiness inside of a month. Even worse, there is something about Avalon that is vital to the mangani’s survival; if the ape-folk are taken from the island even in groups, they swiftly grow physically ill and perish within a year. The Vanyar, though scientifically minded, have never been willing to do experiments to determine why on account of not being assholes. So Bob promised to look in on the mangani from time to time; then he and the groupies left, and being a slacker at the time he promptly forgot about it.
That was twenty years back. Bob’s grown up since then and committed to the hero gig. Which is important because recently the last Vanyar died, causing the telepathic cloaking field around the island to fail. Learning this, one of the former groupies “discovered” the place and announced its existence to the world. Several countries – Russia and China among them – started preparing to exploit its natural wonders and study its technology: preparations that would have resulted in the death of many if not all fo the mangani.
So Bob stepped in. He told the Russians and Chinese that (a) there was no way they’d be able to use the telepathic tech anyway, and (b) anybody who fucked with the ape-folk would find a demigodly foot up their ass.
You’d think that would settle it. But while the Russians and Chinese backed down, the United States did not. Bob’s an American cictizen; he’s always been loyal to his country and obedient to the democratic process. So Congress had an extensive public debate; Bob was called to testify; and in the end the nation decided to “peacefully” resettle the mangani, and all American citizens were forbidden to intervene.
That was last week. Now Bob is standing on an Avalonian beach, looking at an approaching US Navy fleet. They’re loaded for bear and have both aircraft and Marines, but they don’t have any weapons that can really hurt him. But they do have sufficient numbers and firepower so that, if both he and they insist on fighting, he’s gonna end up killing some of them. The mangani, aware of their danger, are preparing to resist … with muscle, teeth, sticks and stones.
What should Bob do, and why?